


Fight Song

by VibraniumHeart



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2020-04-06 07:09:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 26
Words: 35,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19057741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VibraniumHeart/pseuds/VibraniumHeart
Summary: This is me trying to rework/revamp Fighter, because I very much want to write this. Hope you like it! Trainer!Bucky





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RubyRollup](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RubyRollup/gifts).



> Hope this is okay y'all

The gym around you was pristine and neat--weights all tucked into their proper places, mats and machines wiped down to perfection, and even the mirrors along one wall had not a speck on them. Really, you shouldn't have expected anything less from Tony Stark. 

 

If circumstances were different, you would probably take the time to appreciate how neat it was. Instead the walk into the building, through the lobby, and onto the elevator had left you feeling jittery. Like you'd drank about 6 espressos with 5-HR energy chasers. 

 

Inside your chest your heart was trimming wildly, ricocheting around your chest like a rogue pinball. Your stomach was in knots, sweat dotting the back of your neck and, not for the first time, you wanted to run. To forget all about the promise you'd made to Clint to at least try to learn some self defense. 

 

You'd known him before the 'incident' as you referred to it, so he was one of the few people you could say you trusted. However, it didn't make the follow through on your promise any easier. When you suggested he train you himself he insisted that hand-to-hand combat, and teaching it weren't his specialty. And "a bow and arrow would be really ineffective for practical use."

 

And there was no one he trusted more than his teammates to train you properly and with compassion. He had made you sit, read their files; their skills, brief (public) history, pictures, and had even shown you videos of them so you could choose for yourself. 

 

In the end you had chosen Bucky Barnes, the former Winter Soldier. Natasha was far too intimidating, Steve far too...well, it was hard to say but he didn't seem a good fit. Sam had been too loud, too _friendly_ , Tony seemed too over the top, and Bruce much too timid in the fleshy form, and too large in the greener. 

 

Bucky was an ex-assassin with a metal arm, sure, but his own experience with anxiety and PTSD had a lot of sway in your choice. 

 

Even though you had cherry picked your Avenger trainer and were grateful---well, anxiety was one bipolar mother fucker. 

 

Once more you considered fleeing, but the AI chose then to speak softly, "Miss Y/N, Sergeant Barnes has request that I inform you he is about to enter the room."

 

You jumped, surprised at the sudden break in silence and squared your shoulders in an attempt to prepare. Not two minutes later the doors slid open with a whoosh to reveal the man himself.

 

He was dressed casually in a pair of black sweats and a sweatshirt to match. His hair was pulled back into a neat bun, rogue strands framing his face and the icy blue eyes tinged with gray. 

 

Bucky's hands were up, near his head--the left covered with a black glove. He took one step into the room before the door whooshed shut again. Slowly he moved his hands to lift the hem of his sweater, revealing his bare chest and the barest hint of scarring on his left shoulder. He turned, making sure to show you his bare back as well. 

 

Unarmed, was his clear message. Not counting the silver appendage. 

 

He stayed where he was, hands in sight even as he dropped them to his sides. "I'm Bucky. It's nice to meet you. May I?" He gestured to the space between you, to ask if it was alright that he approach.

 

Tersely you nodded, your throat too tight for words just yet. 

 

Bucky stepped forward gingerly, slowly, as if approaching a stray dog. He stopped when he was just within arm's reach. "You must be Y/N." He smiled politely when you didn't offer your name as he had. 

 

You nodded. "I am." 

 

He smiled just a little wider. "You ever trained before?" There was a hint of Brooklyn accent when he spoke, voice even and deep and just the right side of husky. Calming, almost. 

 

"Clint didn't tell you?" Your face must have looked as confused as you felt, brows furrowed incredulously.

 

Bucky shook his head. "Not a thing, other than your name. The rest of it isn't my business unless it pertains to training, or you want to share." He assured with an easy shrug. 

 

"Just like that?" You scoffed.

 

"Just like that."

 

Your eyes narrowed. "And what if I'm some kind of sociopath or something?"

 

His lips twitched, brow hiking upwards in amusement. "Even if this wasn't the lair for America's heroes, you wouldn't be my first sociopath. Might even say I have expertise in that area." 

 

You winced visibly. "God, I'm sorry. That was stupid. Of course you know."

 

Bucky waved it off. "Doll, if that remark had hurt me I would have no business here. You met Stark?" He snorted. "Pretty sure the guy lives to annoy." 

 

"Anyway, have you?"

 

"Had training? No. Not in the slightest."

 

He took that in. "Ever thrown a punch?"

 

"Once." You confirmed.

 

"Alright, give it a try. Just a practice swing at the air." 

 

You did as he asked, widening your stance and curling both hands into fist before throwing a punch at the air. 

 

After a few practice punches he spoke once more. "Straighten your wrist out, don't wanna break your wrist throwing a punch. And don't tuck your thumb in for the same reason."

 

Again you obeyed, throwing a few more punches at the air. "You wanna start off a bit sideways. That way you can throw your whole body into the hit." He demonstrated with a flawless grace before motioning for you to do the same. 

 

Once you had it down he directed you over to a bag and let you have at it once he had directed you how to wrap your hands. 

 

At first, it felt ridiculous. Especially with him watching you so closely. To avoid feeling awkward you kept your eyes on the bag, focusing on your breathing as you struck. Again and again you hit the bag, the smacking sound growing louder and louder the more time past.

 

You hadn't even realized you were shaking, nearly hyperventilating before he barked out a sharp, "Stop!" When you still didn't quit he shoved the bag out of the way and caught your wrists. 

 

Your face was soaked, you realized the second he grabbed you, from both sweat and tears. Your breath was still jagged and uneven, chest tight. Without missing a beat he laid your hand over his chest, directly over his heart.

 

"Breathe with me." He commanded gently, exaggerating his breaths. Slowly, your breathing evened out until you could draw in a clear breath and the panic attack slowly receded. 

 

It left you feeling drained, sick to your stomach. Bucky let you go gently, allowing you to step back to collapse on shakey legs to the bench nearby. 

 

Bucky's eyes were soft, understanding, holding none of the pity you'd grown accustomed to. 

 

"I think that's enough for one day, Rocky." His lips quirked upwards gently into the ghost of a smile. Friendly. 

 

Your chest gave a weird squeeze in response. With his permission you finally did what you wanted since you had stepped into the tower---you fled. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all like this one, and it doesn't feel too fast for a slow burn!

It wasn't until you got home that you realized your knuckles were split, dried blood already caking around the mottled skin of your hand. Your stomach rolled at the sight, cold fear slipping into your veins. You hadn't even felt it. 

 

Beneath the fear loomed a darker cloud of shame, for having had a panic attack in front of Bucky. If you focused, you could almost feel the steady thrum of his heart beneath your fingertips. You shoved that thought away violently and sniffed hard to bite back the sting of tears. You'd just have to quit training with him. 

 

A week later you found yourself back in the gym, messenger bag slung over your shoulder as you twisted the strap nervously. All week, you'd tried to find the courage to send Clint a text to tell him the training was a bad idea. But you couldn't bring yourself to hit send.

 

Skipping the next session all together wasn't an option, either. Clint would surely show up at your apartment to do a wellness check. The protective idiot would probably bring the whole squad, in full super doofus attire to 'save' you from hermit-hood. A hard no thank you. 

 

So you'd forced yourself to attend the next session--only to tell Bucky in person that you couldn't train with him. He could pass the message on to Clint, whom you could avoid until one of you died. 

 

Just as you considered fleeing in favor of option two, the AI once again announced that Bucky would be entering in a moment. Squaring your shoulders, you swallowed hard before the doors whooshed open and he stepped through.

 

This time his hair was down in a dark curtain, day old stubble lining his jaw. The soft red Henley he wore made his eyes look more blue, shining like Caribbean waters under the sun. Your breath snagged as he entered in a sort of easy, relaxed strut. His feet were bare, the hint of a smile twitching at the edge of his mouth once more.

 

A jolt raced through you, unhinging your jaw, "I can't train with you anymore! Sorry, thanks anyway." It came out quick, the words nearly mashed together into one long word rather than a sentence. 

 

Bucky blinked, cocking his head like a giant puppy. His eyes flickered down to your still bruised hand, his eyes softening. 

 

"Why not? Did I offend you?" He asked gently, and you knew he was referring to touching you without your permission. Placing your hand on his chest. "Scare you?" 

 

You shook your head quickly, heart pounding hard in your chest. "No." _Should have covered your knuckles._ "It's not that. I just...can't."

 

Nor could you meet his eyes, your own dropping to the strap still twisted in your grip. Your cheeks flamed hotly, teeth biting down on your tongue to ward off potential tears. Bucky was silent for a beat, studying you for a proper answer. And he found it. 

 

"Rocky, you got nothin' to be embarrassed about. Not here, okay? Not with me." He cleared his throat. "You're already here, so how about one more session? If you still want to stop after that, I'll cover for you with Clint. Let him think you're still training." 

 

You flinched in surprise. "Why would you lie for me? You don't even know me."

 

Bucky nodded. "You're right, I don't. But I'm not gonna force you to stay. And I know how stubborn he can be." He shrugged. 

 

Your eyes narrowed at Bucky. "I don't get it."

 

He drew his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment. "My first panic attack, I tried to claw off my own arm." He tipped his head toward the metal appendage. "Almost succeeded too."

 

Caught off guard you asked, "What stopped you?"

 

At that, he gave a fond smile. "Steve did."

 

You could physically feel walls thrown up inside you at that. "I don't need friends."

 

Bucky arched a brow at that. "Didn't say I wanted to be yours. Doesn't mean I can't teach you something, though."

 

He moved around you slowly, walking past you to sit cross legged on a mat. He pulled a candle and lighter from his pocket and set them before him, lighting the candle with a quick flick.

 

Your anger took a sharp turn to confusion. "What are you doing?"

 

His shoulders relaxed, "meditating." He hummed. 

 

Your brows furrowed. "That...doesn't sound like training." 

 

Bucky's lips gave a twitch, "Thought you hadn't trained before."

 

A sharp huff left you. "Anyone ever tell you you're a smartass?"

 

He laughed throatily. "Not since breakfast. You can leave, Rocky. Or you can take a seat, have some faith." 

 

"In you?"

 

He lifted a shoulder into a shrug. "Just try and believe I'm not as dumb as I look." 

 

With a roll of your eyes you tossed your bag to the floor and plopped down across from him, mirroring his pose.

 

"I'm still done after this." You promised sharply. 

 

He hummed, but said nothing--leaving you both to focus on the tiny dancing flame. 

 

You tried your best to relax, you really did. But it felt weird--the gorgeous, soft looking man across from you. An Avenger, a hero like Clint. In a giant tower owned by a billionaire. It was more ridiculous the longer you thought about it.

 

"This is weird." You grunted. 

 

Bucky's lips gave that irritating twitch again. "Anger is easier, isn't it?" He asked calmly, so quietly you barely heard him.

 

"That's not gonna work, Soldier."

 

He didn't even flinch. "What's not gonna work?"

 

Your eyes rolled, hard. "The bonding over trauma thing? Not happening."

 

His blue eyes rolled up to meet yours. "It's a fact. Much easier to be angry, to throw up walls, than to be relaxed. Vulnerable. That's why it's weird. You don't have to be my friend, but you will have to trust me if you want to stop being so angry." 

 

Your eyes rolled harder as you clamored off the floor, yanking the strap of your bag over your shoulder aggressively. "No thanks, I'll stay angry. Have a nice life, Bucky."

 

"See you next week." He called as you stormed out. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk if I'm happy with this chapter, and even found myself second guessing the second chapter as well. I literally cannot even tell you how many times I attempted this chapter, different scenarios and conversations and locations until I wanted to beat my head into the wall. *groans* I hope this was worth the unintended wait. I love you all for leaving me kudos and comments, and super sorry I'm shit at replying. I'm a total dumpster fire of a human, is all *laughs* anyway, hopefully this isn't nearly as bad as I think!

Though you had zero intention of ever going back to train with Bucky, it seemed the universe had other plans. That or Bucky had gone back on his promise not to tell Clint about it. 

 

Exactly one week later there was a knock at your door and a look through the peephole revealed the blonde archer, brown paper bag in hand. Anger flashed through you, along with irritation, and the small hope that he might go away if you simply left the door unanswered. 

 

You watched through the peephole as Clint rolled his eyes and pressed his eye obnoxiously to the other side of the peephole. It was unexpected, just enough to startle a surprised curse from you. 

 

Clint leaned away from the peephole with a soft wince seconds before you wrenched open the door with a glare. "Asshole. What are you doing here anyway?"

 

He moved around you easily, shaking the bag as he did. "Had a free morning, so thought I would bring you breakfast before escorting you to your session."

 

It was impossible to say if that was all, or if Bucky had spilled the beans. If he had then Clint was here to make sure you went and, if he didn't, you weren't about to give yourself away by accusing him. 

 

So you followed him with a roll of your eyes, and watched him settle at your table before pulling out two bottled drinks and two breakfast sandwiches. You took the seat across from him and, begrudgingly, tucked into the food. 

 

"So, how is training going by the way?" 

 

You leveled him with a look. "Fine. I coulda walked myself, though. And made my own breakfast."

 

Clint raised a brow back at you. "Can't I just do something nice for a friend? Besides, is there really anything in your cupboards that counts as edible food?"

 

In response you narrowed your eyes further and let the conversation lapse into silence. Thankfully, Clint was accustomed to your often sour disposition and said nothing of it. 

 

You were even more thankful that he didn't try to make you talk, even after you got dressed and walked back to the tower with him. He did, unfortunately, escort you directly to the gym door and watched you go in before leaving you be. 

 

If you weren't suspicious that Bucky had spilled the beans before, you certainly were now. He had walked you to the gym like an actual child that couldn't be trusted. It was more than a little insulting, and enough to make you anger bubble over. 

 

You barely heard the AI announce Bucky's arrival, just as she had the previous two times. As soon as the door was shut behind him you whirled around to face him and gave him a hard shove.

 

Bucky stumbled back into the wall, blue eyes wide in surprise. 

 

"You're a real piece of work, you know that?!"

 

He blinked slowly, dark brows furrowed. "Care to elaborate on that, Rocky?"

 

There was no way you were going to fall for his innocent act, scoffing as you invaded his personal space. You jabbed a finger into his chest accusingly. "You know damn well what I mean, you fuckin rat."

 

His blue eyes swept down to the finger jabbed into his chest and back up to your face. "I'm a lot of things, but a rat ain't one of them."

 

"Oh, no? Then why did I have a personal escort to the gym this morning?" You growled in accusation. His brows furrowed deeper, the muscle in his jaw ticking slightly. "What the hell are you talking about?"

 

Your eyes rolled hard, finger jabbing him in the chest once more. "Clint made sure I showed up today, as if you didn't know."

 

Bucky's eyes pinched shut for a moment as he let out a deep sigh, eyes finding yours earnestly. "And you think I told him you weren't coming back, that it?"

 

Another jab to his chest. "Obviously you said something to him!"

 

He shook his head. "Because it's not possible that a friend cared about you enough to check on you?" 

 

Your teeth ground together in irritation. "Don't try and twist it, you said you'd see me next week. And despite that, here I am." You gestured obnoxiously to the gym around you. 

 

Bucky pushed a hand through his hair before letting it drop back to his side. "Yeah, I did say that. But not because I was gonna make it happen by tricking you into it." 

 

"Bullshit." Yet another jab to his chest. 

 

For the first time, his own eyes narrowed slightly. "Whatever you say, doll." He tried to move around you but you shoved him back once more. His shoulders smacked into the wall, bottom lip pulled between his teeth in slight irritation. He released it with a long, slow exhale. 

 

"What exactly do you want from me, anyway? Clint's not here, is he? You don't have to be either." 

 

Another flash of anger seared through you. "Why, so you can tattle on me again?"

 

Bucky took a deep breath. "I told you, I didn't tell arrow boy anything." 

 

Your eyes rolled again. "And I'm supposed to just take your word for it?" 

 

He shrugged. "I could offer you concrete proof that I didn't tell him anything, but you'd probably go out of your way to concoct some way I could have fabricated it. Because your history, your trauma, tells you that it's far more likely that I'm trying to manipulate you somehow, rather than the truth."

 

His words seemed to pop your anger, like a needle to a bubble. Your hand dropped from his chest. "And what's the truth?"

 

Again his eyes met yours, brilliantly blue and so earnest it made your stomach flip. Bucky's voice came out soft, a little husky. 

 

"Truth is, I said it because I figured you were tired of being angry. Because I know what that anger feels like, and the rest of it." 

 

Your throat dried up, making your response come out thicker than expected. "And you think you can help with that? That learning some self defense will?" 

 

His lips nearly twitched, but he bit it back. "Only one way to find out. I won't stop you from leaving, if that's what you really want. But if you stay, try to let go of some of the hostility. Or, at the very least, don't poke me anymore." 

 

It was your turn for a deep breath, to take the time to weigh your options carefully. The answer was simple, but you had conditions. Well, just one really.

 

"I still don't want to be your friend, Barnes." 

 

Surprisingly, he held out his flesh hand to you and, this time, his lips did twitch slightly. "Promise, no trauma bonding." 

 

You found yourself sliding your hand into his for a firm handshake. At the raise of his brow you grunted stubbornly. "Alright, I'll...try to stop being so angry." 

 

With that, he dropped your hand to move further into the gym. You stayed behind for just half a second longer, enough time to hope that you weren't making the wrong choice. 

 

But, the infuriating bastard was right. Anger was easier, it had even been your lifeline in the beginning, but the rest of it wasn't. If training could help you regain even some semblance of control over the constant fear and suspicion it was worth it. Wasn't it? 

 

So you made the conscious decision to take the hard path, to stay instead of flee. 


	4. Chapter 4

Once you made the conscious decision to stay, and to try and stop being so angry, things went smoother with training with Bucky. However, training _with_ him brought another set of challenges. Namely your humiliation in comparison. 

 

He could easily run 60mph on the treadmill without breaking a sweat, and you ended up nearly dripping with it. After cardio he had suggested weights. 

 

"Seriously?" You huffed. Bucky, for his part, looked like a confused labrador who had just been told he could not go for a walkies. His head tipped to the side, brows furrowed and lips pouting adorably. _Annoyingly_ , you corrected yourself quickly. 

 

"I just watched you run at my car's top speed, without breaking a sweat. I don't exactly want to watch you lift said car as well."

 

He snorted. "Don't be ridiculous, there aren't any cars in here." Before you could give a knee-jerk angry retort he shrugged. "Besides, you'll need a spotter."

 

His dark brows lifted slightly, and you recognized it for the challenge it was. Without saying so, explicitly, he was asking you to trust him. 

 

At least so far as not letting you asphyxiate yourself with the weights. It felt like forever, that you stood there silently---assessing each other, calculating the risk to you, but it was really less than a full minute. 

 

What were the chances he would let you die in the Avengers gym, in the tower full of superheroes and the ever watchful AI? Steve Rogers, the paragon of virtue and purity, was his closest friend. And _he_ trusted him. As did Clint, which was more important. 

 

The blonde archer wouldn't have handed you directly over to the wolves, right?

 

"Okay." You shrugged, moving over to the bench he had gestured to.

 

"Okay?" He echoed in surprise. 

 

Another shrug. "If I die, I'll haunt you forever." 

 

A strange, almost gloomy, look passed over his eyes. It was gone before you could name it properly. "I've no doubt about that. We'll start small, work our way up." 

 

Once you proved you could lift the bar without weights he did, indeed, start you off on small weights. Ten pounds, then twenty. 

 

You didn't count the reps he made you do, though he counted them aloud. It was hard to focus, if you were honest, and not because of the fear and anxiety you expected.

 

No, there was something more unsettling about lying on your back with Bucky above you. He was paying careful attention to the bar as you lifted it up, lowered it back down, then up again. 

 

From this angle your head was near his hips though, thankfully, above his privates. You were certain _that_ would have fucked your concentration completely. Instead you could see nothing but the hard planes of his stomach, muscles strained against the tight shirt he was wearing. 

 

His bicep contracted and released fluidly, metal arm whirring quietly. The sharp line of his jaw was freshly shaven, the dark strands of his hair falling nearly to his shoulders. Cupid's bow lips pursed softly in concentration. And _Jesus_ were his eyes blue, framed with long lashes. 

 

There was no denying it, he was attractive. Sinfully so. And okay, it would never happen, even if you allowed it. But there was no harm in looking. At least, that's what you told yourself.

 

"Can you handle more?" Bucky's voice came out as a sort of husky purr, the sound alighting your nerves and sending a trail of goosebumps down your sweat-slicked back. You were so distracted by the sensation, so caught off guard by his voice---

 

\---your sweaty hands slipped on the bar, eyes popping wide as it fell from your hands. You slammed them shut instinctively, as if closing your eyes would somehow make the impact of the bar to your throat any easier. 

 

It didn't come. Your heart raced in your chest, galloping and squirming wildly like a freshly branded mule. When your eyes did finally pop open it felt like a century had passed.

 

The bar was in a silver grip, already accenting back to its proper niche. You hadn't even heard the telltale whir of the plates. Part of you wished you'd kept your eyes open---he had to have moved _fast_ to grab the falling bar. Faster than any normal human, of course. 

 

Would it have startled you? 

 

He moved swiftly around the bench, flesh hand pulling you up quickly but gently. Cerulean eyes darted over you, scanning to make sure you weren't injured. 

 

Bucky's flesh thumb was pressed to your wrist directly over your pulse. You could feel it jack-hammering against his soft, calloused flesh. Even his damn **hands** were attractive.

 

The loud drum of your heart sang in your ears, nearly drowning out all other sounds. And, for a moment, his too-blue eyes captured yours and a delicate pout pulled at his lips.

 

Oh, they were moving. He was saying something. It felt like sand had been poured directly down your throat for as dry as it was. After three swallows it finally cleared. 

 

"What?" 

 

His frown deepened, his thumb subconsciously making small circles over the sensitive skin of your wrist.

 

"I said, are you alright Y/N?" 

 

Another hard swallow. You forced your eyes away from his. "Yeah. Yes. I'm fine. Guess my hands are just a bit sweaty." You lied through your teeth. 

 

If he could tell it was a lie, he said nothing and you found yourself grateful for it. There was only one thing worse than nearly killing (okay, wounding...probably) yourself while staring at your trainer, and that was being called on it. 

 

You had nearly forgotten about Bucky's soft grip on your wrist until he let go and left your line of sight for a moment. Then he was back, passing you a cold bottle of water and a fresh towel.

 

The bottle of water you took immediately. Desperate to break the tension in your chest, you did what you did best and made a joke. 

 

"You gonna ask me if the towel smells like chloroform to me?" The laugh was forced, but Bucky's wasn't as you finally took the towel.

 

His eyes crinkled at the corners, nose scrunched and head tipped back to laugh. "Nah, I prefer tranq darts. Ask Clint about it some time." 

 

The water nearly took you out a second time, your surprised snort drawing water into your air passage for a moment. When the coughing ceased you raised both eyebrows at him. It was impossible to tell if he was serious or not. His face would suggest not, though.

 

"Wait, really?"

 

Bucky broke into a boyish grin, lifting a shoulder casually. 

 

"What did he do to deserve a tranq dart?" 

 

He snorted. "Who says it was only one?" 

 

Infuriatingly, it was the only answer he gave. While you tried to think of a reason he might have sedated Clint, he made his way for the door. 

 

"See you next week, Rocky!" And, for the first time, he left the gym before you. Your mouth stayed hung open for a moment before you huffed, slinging your bag back over your shoulder. 

 

"Should have poked him harder." You murmured on your way out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I'm not moving this too fast, and including the anxiety enough! But anxiety isn't always ever-present, and neither is anger. Sometimes there are soft, delicate moments where we forget we have walls. That's what this one is meant to showcase! Y'all are literally keeping me going with kudos and comments (which I am absolutely still reading---this week has just been determined to kick my ass. So far most of 2019 has been determined to. But I am a stubborn asshole and just keep truckin' as best I can!) Hopefully y'all appreciate that most of the time I have no actual clue what I'm doing at all, nor where my stories are going exactly.   
> Only because I find planning things can screw me over royally, because I try to force it to happen at certain speeds. Thinking within the next few chapters we may see more reader + Clint, or perhaps some Pigeon-Boy Sam, or Golden Boy Stevie. Let me know what you guys think! I shall be hiding under a rock somewhere, probably reliving my most embarrassing moments in life in gory detail or something. Love you all xxx


	5. Chapter 5

Bucky made his way down one of the many, long halls within the Avengers compound. He could hear footsteps behind him. They were light, but more than loud enough for his sensitive ears to pick up. He didn't flinch or turn around. 

 

"You gonna stalk me all day or take the less creepy approach?"

 

There was a laugh behind him before Clint stepped up beside him, rubbing the back of his neck a bit awkwardly. "Hey man, what's up?"

 

He almost rolled his eyes at the blonde. "Really, Robin Hood?" He sighed. "That's weak, man." 

 

Clint blinked at him through wide eyes. "What, I can't ask how a friend is?"

 

Bucky couldn't suppress a snort. "This is why you don't ever lead interrogations, man. Just fuckin ask me directly." He raised a dark eyebrow in challenge, already prepared for what he was about to ask.

 

"How's training going?" He replied, though he looked a bit put out by the mention of his complete lack of subtlety. 

 

"Training is fine." Was his honest reply. 

 

"Really? I mean...she's really doing okay?" He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, all sense of pretense gone. Might as well be direct. 

 

Bucky leveled him with a look. "How would you be?" He didn't snap, though he felt like it. Still he hadn't read your file---it wasn't his business to know what had happened to you. It was personal. Yours to share at your own pace, or even never if you wished it. It wouldn't do anything for the tentative trust he was trying to build, either. 

 

Clint winced anyway, and Bucky took pity on him. "She's doing fine, Clint. You trusted me enough to train her, so trust that I'll tell you if there's anything you need to know." 

 

The blonde nodded, shoulders sagging with relief as the two reached the elevator. Bucky pressed the button. 

 

"Thank yo--" he stopped in his tracks at the icy look Bucky gave him. 

 

"Don't, archer. And Clint? Don't ever interfere with my training again." He didn't need to explain what he meant. Clint going to fetch you like a child had angered you, rightfully so. 

 

But, more importantly, it nearly ruined any chance he had of training you in under an hour. It had put him in your sights in a bad way. He could still remember the sharp jabs to his chest which, okay, did not hurt but that was hardly the point. Clint had nearly sown seeds of mistrust. Gave you reason to doubt. 

 

He stepped into the elevator, keeping his eyes locked onto Clint's as the doors shut between them. Bucky didn't need to verbalize that it was, indeed, a threat. 

 

Sometimes resting murder face had its advantages. Punching the number for the gym he relaxed against the back wall of the elevator, hoping you were in a better mood this time around. He really didn't want to get poked again. 

 

\--------------------------

 

"You gonna tell me?" You asked Bucky as soon as he was inside the gym. His eyebrows shot up comically, confusion written plain as day over his face.

 

"Tell you what?" Had Clint told you about his threat? That would certainly work in his favor. At least he assumed.

 

You groaned impatiently, "Why you tranq-darted Clint."

 

Bucky pretended to think about it. "Sorry, doesn't ring a bell." He teased. 

 

Your arms crossed over your chest. "Well, you _are_ over a hundred."

 

He gasped, feigning hurt with a hand over his heart. "Ouch. I'll have you know, I've got amnesia."

 

A snort burst from you. "You mean Alzheimer's." 

 

He narrowed his blue eyes playfully. "Picking on your elders? Wow. That's hurtful, Rocky." 

 

If he wasn't watching for it he would have missed the slight twist of your lips--the barest hint of a smile. A burst of pride flooded through him though he didn't let it show. 

 

You shrugged. "I'll stop being hurtful if you tell me." 

 

Bucky pretended to think it over for a moment before he allowed a soft smile to twist at his own mouth. "You really wanna know?" He asked, his tone serious but eyes bright with mischief. A look, you had no doubt, that had been in his arsenal of charm since the 40s. Maybe longer. 

 

He didn't keep you dangling long, his head ducking almost shyly. "He wouldn't stop talking." His head shook almost fondly. "We got stuck in a remote forest for a few days, after a mission--gathering Intel, really. He just wouldn't stop. Kept it up for two days. Most of it jokes at my expense I didn't get. Pop culture. So I warned him I would tranq him if he wouldn't stop and, being Clint, he just kept going."

 

For a moment he was worried he'd angered you. He had tranquilized your best friend over something rather trivial, after all. Your face showed no emotion for that long moment, and Bucky held his breath in preparation.

 

And then your head tipped back and a genuine, light and bubbly laugh spilled from your open mouth. The tension in him burst, fizzling out in a tingling sensation over his entire body. _He'd made you laugh._  

 

"Sounds about right. He's the most stubborn person I've ever met. You should have heard him nagging at me to move into the tower." The tidbit of information slipped free without your permission. It just...happened. The smile fell from your face as soon as you realized it. **Personal.**  

 

Bucky commented with caution, treading the unfamiliar waters delicately. He knew what it was like to be on your side of this equation, but now he was getting a taste of how Stevie might have felt when he'd found Bucky. 

 

"He just wants to keep you safe." He said gently. That much was true---and it didn't feel like an overstep. He wasn't trying to pry. 

 

He relaxed some when you nodded. "I know. And I get it, I do. Stark has all the latest and greatest in home security. Theoretically it's one of the safest places in the world. In reality..."

 

Bucky didn't need you to finish the sentence. "In reality, it's a big, blazing neon target that practically says 'attack here first.'" 

 

He was still aware that he had to tread lightly---the information you'd given had been a slip up, not freely given with the intent for him to know you better or understand. But it was a sort of olive branch all the same. 

 

If he seemed too friendly you would almost certainly mistrust him, push him away and throw up steel walls he would never get through. Though, if he said nothing he risked the same. You might think he wasn't taking you seriously or flat out didn't care. Either extreme would put a big 'do not trust' label on his back. 

 

"We could always work out at another gym, if you think it would help." He shrugged casually. "Or, I could familiarize you with the safety protcols---show you emergency exists, alternate routes, that sort of thing."

 

Your brows furrowed softly. "Wouldn't showing me be breaking some sort of rules for you?"

 

Bucky shook his head. "No. Every employee here in the tower knows most of the routes." They also went through rigorous background checks, and signed iron clad non-disclosure agreements. He certainly wasn't going to make you do either of those, though. 

 

Because whether or not you trusted him, Bucky trusted _you_. In a way he didn't immediately understand. Steve was the only other one who had gained his trust so quickly. And you hadn't even done anything, not really, to earn it. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have somewhat more of an idea of what I'm doing! Hopefully. Baha! This chapter just sort of...happened? I really, really hope it's okay and y'all like it! I used some of my own personal experience with asthma attacks to add more detail to the panic attack featured here. Hope you all like this, and I shall reply to any comments tonight! (This was written very quickly while my kids napped, so excuse any errors and my rudeness in not replying right away!) Figured y'all would want this chapter more than my replies lol

New York was truly the city that never slept. Whether it was 2am on a Tuesday or 9am on a Sunday there were always hordes of people milling about---bustling on the busy streets, avoiding each other or straight barreling into one another. 

 

In truth, it was why you avoided going out unless it was deemed necessary. Too many people. Too much _noise_. 

 

Your last few training sessions with Bucky had gone well, you were sleeping regularly and even adjusting your diet. Though the diet changes were only due to it being harder, much harder, to work out if all you had eaten was a bag of mini frosted donuts. 

 

So your mood, for once, was high. The people milling about weren't as bothersome as usual. Maybe it was to blame for your guard being dropped lower than usual. Honestly, you couldn't say. 

 

One minute you were making a beeline for the closest coffee shop, on your way to training and, the next you found yourself crashing into someone and then another. There was a whiff of something familiar---spicy, pungent, _wrong_. 

 

After that it was harder to say what happened. People in New York didn't stop---not for the homeless, not for rich business men in sharp suits, and certainly not for you. 

 

The scent, you knew, set something off in you. A panic that had your heart galloping quickly in your chest and your chest tightening. It felt like, all at once, someone had bound it in thick rubberbands. 

 

Hundreds of them, all squeezing the air from your chest at a terrifying speed. You'd seen a video once of kids that had rubberbanded a watermelon. It exploded from the force. 

 

_Could your heart do that?_  

 

The crowd around you kept jostling and shoving, your vision darkening at the corners and sweat dripping down your hairline. 

 

In a blind panic you'd shoved and pushed without truly seeing, running on legs that felt like jello through a syrupy field of molasses. Your skin felt stretched and taut, too small and tight for the bones underneath. It burned and itched, set your entire body ablaze. 

 

The noise of the city seemed to be aimed directly for you, pounding and crescendoing again and again from every direction. Your legs took over, head too full of panic and adrenaline to form clear thoughts. You ducked into a doorway, not really seeing, crashing through anyone in your way. 

 

Your vision was blurred around the edges and darkening quickly, only one thought pounding sharply through your head.

 

_It smelled like **him**_. 

 

The world was quiet now except for your wheezing breaths that you couldn't seem to get under control no matter how you tried. Subconsciously you could feel your teeth chattering, banging together harshly in the confines of your mouth. 

 

Somewhere there was a soft ding, though you couldn't place it. The walls around you were threatening to collapse and your chest was on fire. It _hurt_.

 

\-----------

Bucky pressed the button for the elevator, head tipping back to laugh at Steve's recount of how sparring went the morning before. He'd had front row seats to Natasha taking Sam out in her signature headlock (with her thighs, of course). 

 

Steve laughed with him, "I swear, he looked so happy just before he passed out." His hand flew to cover the left side of his chest as he laughed. 

 

He laughed harder. It was funny, but better yet was how happy and carefree Stevie looked. It wasn't often that he dropped the whole Captain Dad act and just let himself be the boy from Brooklyn. No weight of the world on his shoulders, no guilt, just hysterical laughter for how bad Sam had it for the fiery redhead. 

 

The moment the doors slid open, however, his laughter came to an abrupt halt. So quickly it nearly gave the former assassin whiplash. 

 

There, tucked into the corner of the elevator, wheezing and sweating and feral with panic---was you. Bucky felt the smile slip from his face and his chest gave a painful squeeze. 

 

"Go get Clint." He commanded his Captain. Steve, to his credit, took off immediately to do just that. Without asking questions. No doubt he recognized your face---Stevie never forgot anyone, and had familiarized himself with every face that had ever stepped foot into the tower. And even if he didn't his trust in Bucky was unshakeable. 

 

Bucky took a steadying breath and put his hands up, though you weren't even looking at him but through him. "Keep the elevator open, Friday." He commanded as he took a step closer. 

 

"Y/N?" He called gently, making his way toward you. "It's Bucky. You're in the tower. You're safe now." 

 

He had no idea what had happened, but he knew terror when he saw it. The hammering of your heart echoed in his ears, chilling his blood straight down to the bone as if it were his own fear. Just as loud to his ears was the wheezing of your breath, not unlike the asthma attacks Steve used to have before the serum. 

 

There was no indication that you had heard him at all or even knew he was there. But he wasn't about to leave you like this if he could help. Finally he was close enough to crouch down beside you but didn't touch, not yet. 

 

"Hey, it's just Bucky. You're in the tower. We were supposed to train today, remember?" He kept his voice even and soft, unwilling to add to your distress. "I'm gonna touch you, is that okay?"

 

He thought he saw the barest nod of your head, but you were shaking so terribly it was hard to say for sure. So, cautiously, he reached for your hand and brought it up to his chest so you could feel the steady rhythm of his heart.

 

Without realizing it he'd been exaggerating his breaths---a deep, loud inhale followed by a slow, loud, exhale. Over and over again. 

 

Bucky felt his chest tighten once more when tears gathered in your eyes, spilling over without abandon. His stomach twisted. He knew you could hate him for seeing you so vulnerable. What he felt, though, was nothing close to pity. Nothing you should be ashamed for.

 

Rather he was surprised at the anger flaring up in the back of his head, tightly reigned. He didn't know what happened but he wanted to punch or destroy whatever had made you crumple like this. 

 

Finally your eyes flashed to his, still wild and panicked but focused enough that he was sure you saw him.

 

"Bucky?" Your hand trembled against his chest. He nodded. "It's me, Rocky. You're safe. I've got you." 

 

Your heartbeat was still much too fast for his liking, breaths still too quick and sharp and shallow. 

 

"I...I..." you struggled to force the words out between ragged breaths. Bucky tried to shush you gently. But the panic still had a tight grip, making you desperate in a way you wouldn't otherwise be. 

 

"S-s-sm-sm..." you wheezed deeply. "Smelled....h-him." You finally choked the words out, the adrenaline dropping off so suddenly that your body slumped forward and onto his chest. 

 

With no hesitation he wrapped his arms around you, shushing softly once more. It fell on deaf ears, though. In what felt like no time at all your heart slowed and your breaths evened out---you had passed out against him, his arms around your small frame. 

 

Bucky could hear loud, pounding footsteps behind him and looked over his shoulder to see Steve and Clint had just arrived. Their steps squelched to a sudden stop, Clint's brows furrowed deeply and something Bucky couldn't name in his eyes. 

 

"She...uh...she passed out." He offered as way of explanation. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not 100% certain on this chapter but rolling with it! I've legitly written it about 6 different ways, and this one seems fitting enough. I dare say this will bring us into appropriately bringing Bucky and the reader together without pushing too hard. I plan for this Bucky to be extra floofy, so I apologize in advance for melting you all into puddles of happy goop.

You came to consciousness slowly, your thoughts slow and staggered as if they were trudging through mud. Light licked at your eyelids, adding a layer of discomfort to pair with the pounding in your head.

 

Without moving your entire body aches as if you've just completed a triathalon, only to be struck by a car just after. 

 

When your eyes do open the grimace you're already wearing only increases. Clint is the first person you see--lines of worry etched between his brows and a frown tugging at his lips. 

 

"Hey kid, how you feeling?"

 

You're too exhausted for sarcasm so the truth slips free easily, "Like shit that was frozen solid, reheated to boiling and chucked out a window and run over." You groan. 

 

If it weren't so serious you know he'd laugh. What you failed to realize was that he wasn't alone. Steve Rogers and Bucky are behind him, far enough away to not be smothering. But certainly close enough to hear. 

 

Even embarrassment is hard to feel beyond the exhaustion. "Wanna tell me what happened?"

 

Your eyebrows lift. "As if you don't already know. I'm certain Stark has the ability to hack into every camera within a 30 block radius, at the very least."

 

He has the decency to look chagrined. "It wasn't him." He states plainly, though not without sympathy. Clint knows you well enough to know that you have to know, to verify it. 

 

The answer he gives is both relieving and upsetting. Relieving because there's no real threat. Upsetting for the same reason. Try as you might, you're still programmed to react so sharply to even his _scent_. And you hate that. Hate that you can't control it. 

 

Knowing him for so long means he can also anticipate your thoughts, as wild as they may be. The small audience you have is unwelcome, but voicing it seems too rude. And like it would take up entirely too much energy.

 

Still, there's something you need to do before you lose your nerve. Clint's shoulders sag slightly but he nods just enough for you to catch it. 

 

"I'll go round you up some food, and maybe some tylenol?" He nods his head to Steve, who takes the hint just as easily. 

 

"Glad to see you're okay, ma'am." He gives you a nod, clapping Bucky on the shoulder as he moves for the door. You're thankful he doesn't try for more. Even more so for his departure. 

 

With the two of them gone, you're left alone with Bucky. As much as you want to run, to say nothing, to avoid him until one of you dies---there's a more pressing need, one that refuses to be silenced. Whether it's a result of the exhaustion creeping into your bones or something else entirely is beyond you. 

 

Bucky doesn't press, doesn't fidget or tap or give any indication that he's forcing you to say anything. He's smart enough not to push. As great as the need to say _something_ is, it's impossible to meet his eyes. You busy yourself instead by focusing on the threads of a blanket beside you. The rest of the common area you're in fades away; the giant TV that takes up an entire wall, surround sound speakers, the other couches. 

 

"I..." you clear your throat and soldier on. "Thank you, Bucky." 

 

From your peripherals you can see him tuck a lock of hair behind his ear. "You don't have to thank me, Rocky."

 

You pull at a thread on the blanket. "Yes, I do. I should explain." 

 

Bucky shook his head, large arms crossing over his chest. "You don't have to." He repeated softly. "Don't do anything because you feel obligated to do so."

 

"Aren't you curious?" You still didn't understand how he could just accept whatever you threw at him with ease. 

 

He huffed softly. "What I am is glad you're okay. If you want to share I'm all ears, but it's not required alright?" 

 

There's no time to answer him, because Clint comes back in at that moment with a tray piled with food and the tylenol he promised.  

 

Bucky takes it as his cue to leave. "See you next week, Rocky." He bids in farewell.

 

"Alright, eat up and then we'll figure out a room for you." He says evenly, setting the tray on the coffee table before you. 

 

"Excuse me?"

 

"Eat. Food." He prompts, but you know that he knows it's not what you meant. Not remotely. 

 

"I'm not staying here, Clint." 

 

His jaw ticked for a moment before he took in a deep breath. "I know you hate it here. Just...please? One night is all I ask." He makes puppy dog eyes at you but you're unwilling to give in so easily. 

 

"Clint.."

 

He sighs, pushing a hand through his hair. "I just wanna be sure you're alright, okay? I'll take you home first thing in the morning." 

 

And then his eyes soften, revealing just how concerned he is for your wellbeing. It's nice, to be cared for. To have him worry. One night isn't likely to kill you and, honestly, going back home alone is more daunting than you would like to admit at the moment. 

 

"One night. But no more surprise introductions, okay?"

 

At least he has the decency to wince. "Technically, Steve didn't introduce himself...but I promise." 

 

Just like that you find yourself roped into spending the night, staying when what you really want is to flee. There's nowhere to go, though, that the panic and anxiety wouldn't follow. It cannot be shaken, ditched, lost or tossed aside. 

 

All the doors and hallways look the same to you, the tower a labyrinth of monochromatic shades. He talks on the way, though you hardly pay attention. The mother hen routine is always hard for you to bear, though you know he means well. 

 

Hawkeye was certainly a fitting nickname for the way he watched you eat and dutifully swallow down the pain reliever. If you had the energy you probably would have cussed him out. 

 

Instead you allow yourself to be lead to an empty room, for him to show you the amenities and grab you spare toiletries and clothes for sleep. 

 

By the time he leaves you're exhausted to the point that changing is the last thing on your mind. In lieu of doing anything else you collapse onto the bed that smells nothing of home, shut your eyes tight and pray you can sleep until morning. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve is a meddlesome little shit. And a tender little surprise. A soft spot, if you will. I hope you all like this one because I had to include it. It was a neeeed

It didn't take long for Bucky to find Steve, being that the blond situated himself into his living quarters. There was nothing unusual about it, Steve had unrestricted access and often hung out with him. The super soldier was reclined on his couch, feet resting on the coffee table.

 

Bucky didn't even bother to greet him properly. "Were you raised in a barn? Feet off the table, punk." 

 

Steve snorted. "Jerk." But he put his feet down anyway, accepting the beer offered to him with ease. It wouldn't get either of them drunk, of course, but it was still nice to indulge in old habits. Never mind that it was barely afternoon. 

 

"So.." Steve started after a long pull from his bottle. 

 

Bucky raised an eyebrow back at him. "Just spare me the small talk and get to the point."

 

He smirked in response, mischief alight in his blue eyes. A look Bucky knew well. He had seen it often enough, both before the war and after. His best friend really was a troublesome little shit at times. 

 

"Who says I have something to say?"

 

That earned him a glare without heat and a roll of eyes the color of angelite. 

 

"The stupid ass grin on your face says so." 

 

"Alright then, you like her." Steve replied easily, shrugging as if he had just casually mentioned the weather. 

 

His dark brows furrowed. "What are you talking about?"

 

A snort was his response. "Now who's beating around the bush? You know I meant Y/N." 

 

Of course he did. Bucky offered up what he hoped was a casual shrug. "Yeah, sure. She's nice." 

 

"Nice?" He laughed. "As if you haven't noticed how pretty she is. You're sweet on her."

 

Frustration seeped into his bones. "I've only known her a few weeks, punk. A few days really." 

 

"So? I knew I loved Peg right from the get." 

 

Internally Bucky suppressed a groan. Not because he didn't care about Steve and Peg, or hated hearing the story about knowing he loved her almost instantly. It had more to do with the fact that Steve loved to insert himself into Bucky's romantic life these days. 

 

Of course, before the war Bucky had no issues with the ladies---unless being too charming, too suave, was a problem. These days it was harder, more complex. Not only had the rules for courting women had changed but the women themselves. 

 

He might as well be a goddamn alien with as little as he seemed to understand. He'd had dates but they all fell flat. Either his old school charm put them off ( _women can take care of themselves_ ) or they had issues with his past, the arm, or wanted to be far too casual. 

 

One night stands, swiping right or left---it was all a bit too much. He kept quiet about that, though, "I know, Stevie. But it's not like that for everyone. I'm just her trainer."

 

His best friend sighed and set down his empty bottle before turning to him fully. "Are you, though? Because you seemed pretty cozy earlier."

 

Bucky's jaw dropped open in surprise. "She _passed out_! It's not like she fell asleep on me intentionally." He replied defensively.

 

Steve was already shaking his head. "Not what I meant. Bucky...I know what you look like when you're into a dame. I haven't seen you so...tender in a long time. The way you look at her...." another shake of his head. "You can admit to wanting more." 

 

The brunet let his head drop against the back of the couch and released a long sigh. "It doesn't matter what I want, Stevie. This isn't about me. So yeah, she's pretty and she's nice but I'm not pursuing her, okay? We don't even really know each other." 

 

Steve nodded. "But you want to get to know her." He remarked simply.

 

Bucky shot him a look. "You really are a fuckin' punk, Stevie. If I say yes will you let it go?" 

 

"That depends, are you saying you're sweet on her?" 

 

He rolled his eyes, knowing Steve wouldn't let it drop until he had a proper answer. "Fine, fuck. Maybe a little. Now let it go." 

 

Bucky didn't appreciate the shit eating grin he got in return. He loved Stevie like a brother, but that also meant that, sometimes, he really wanted to beat the snot out of the little rascal. At least now he could take the punches and deliver some of his own. Now he really could 'do it all day.'

 

To his immense he seemed willing to let it go. "Alright, alright. Don't get your panties in a bunch Jamie." 

 

He laughed when Bucky whipped a couch cushion at his face. Steve knew he hated being called Jamie. No one but his sister had ever done it and gotten away with it. She had been the tender spot in his heart, possibly even bigger than the one he had for Steve.

 

Rebecca had seen him as her hero, her brother, her Jamie. He didn't hate Steve for making him think of his little sister---quite the opposite. It was nice to be reminded of that soft spot that still existed in his heart. Made him feel more human. 

 

"I'm just saying, jerk, that you can learn more about her. Her file is still on your desk. And you can argue that it's not your business all you like, because it certainly looked like you wanted to _make_ it your business." He stood gracefully, stretching as he did. "Read it. Or don't. I'm only saying sometimes people need a little push in the right direction." 

 

Bucky frowned at him. "You think I should push her to give me answers?" 

 

He shrugged. "Not necessarily. Just that maybe you're not trying hard enough to know her. I think you're afraid to push because she might actually let you in."

 

He huffed at that. "Yeah, or never speak to me again. The training will do her good, I don't want her to quit that because of me."

 

Steve nodded and made his way for the door. "I get it, I do. You might try considering that you would be good for her too, though." 

 

And he left it at that, the door shutting behind him with a soft click. Trapping Bucky with his thoughts. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this is okay. I'm so nervous about these chapters. Why do I hate my own writing so much? Also, someone tell this weather to suck a dick. Humid as all fuck, and hot today. (Heat and humidity are my asthma triggers. I have an inhaler, should I need it. But I will never ever enjoy humidity. Breathing fine but even my body seems to hate this bullshit weather. Give me dry, scorching heat and that's easily 80 times better than 80 degrees with 89% humidity).   
> Anyway enough of my rambling, read all about our gorgeous boy with eyes the color of angelite. (That's a crystal, and his eyes are still prettier and more gray but he's an angel so I'm loving it).

Bucky considered Steve's words over the next week. His blond friend wasn't wrong---there was a file sitting on his desk with your name printed in neat, black letters. He could easily read it, find out more about you and part of him was tempted. So tempted. 

 

But every time he came close to the folder he found himself turning away as if burned by it. It was an invasion of your privacy. Sure, Clint had offered up the information, and you knew it had been, but he still hadn't been given _explicit_ permission to do so. It was enough to keep him from opening the folder that housed what he so desperately wanted to know--what had made you so afraid to trust another person.

 

\-----------

The gym seemed quieter today, though you knew it was just a trick of the mind. Leftove frayed nerves from cracking open the most minuscule part of yourself. Like a hairline fracture on the shell of an egg. Just enough that, with the slightest push or tap, the yolk center could come spilling out. And once it was out you weren't sure there was a way to put it back. 

 

It certainly would never be the same as before. 

 

Even more startling was that the crack didn't bother you as much as it _should_. So, as was your way to deal with most things, you resolved not to acknowledge it at all. Ignorance was bliss, and calling attention to the fissure would do nothing but make it fester. 

 

You also found that it seemed to strengthen your resolve to actually learn from Bucky, to take your training with him more seriously. If it could help reduce the number of times you found yourself in a blind panic, unaware of your own surroundings in an attempt to flee, then it was worth putting real effort into. 

 

He barely made it into the gym before you spoke up.

 

"I've been thinking..." you swallowed around the hard lump that lodged suddenly in your throat. "I mean, if it's okay with you. If you have time." 

 

Bucky tilted his head curiously. "Ask away, Rocky." He encouraged. 

 

A breath to settle yourself. "Can we...um...make these sessions longer? I just...I don't feel like I'm learning as much as I should?" 

 

You wanted to take it back as soon as you asked. Where was your usual snark and asshole nature? The you that you knew would never ask for a favor. Not even Clint. 

 

To your relief Bucky offered up a soft smile. "Sure. Now that you bring it up, I was thinking we could practice some defensive maneuvers, if that's okay with you."

 

You couldn't help but let out a small, soft laugh. "I mean, that's kind of why I'm here isn't it?" 

 

His eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled. "Yeah, but I mean more specific defensive maneuvers; what to do if someone grabs you from behind, tries a choke hold." 

 

After thinking it over for a minute you nodded. "That sounds like it could be useful." 

 

This was the only part he was really nervous about, though he wouldn't let it show. "It will require that I touch you, is that alright? If not I can probably find a dummy or something. But it's most effective if you practice it yourself." 

 

A nervous blossom warmed your stomach, though it wasn't the usual skin-tugging, tightening, rolling sick of anxiety. It was something quieter, gentler, that you couldn't fully name. 

 

"Uh---yeah, just...tell me what to do, Miyagi." 

 

Bucky instructed you to just stand still in the middle of a mat with your arms at your sides. He stepped around you slowly, making sure his footsteps made noise against the foam mats. As he moved he kept speaking. 

 

"Okay, in this first one I'm gonna come up behind you and wrap my arms around your middle."

 

As he spoke he did just that, his thick arms coming up to wrap loosely around your middle. He was so close you could feel his breath on the shell of your ear. "The second you're not okay with this just say so." 

 

He waited for you to give a small, barely perceptible nod. "Now what I want you to do is step forward with one foot, this will help balance your body."

 

Bucky kept his voice even and soft, his hold loose--and he tried not to focus on the feel of your back so close to his chest. He hated himself for wanting to pull you closer. This was not at all intended to be intimate or selfish, but he couldn't deny it felt good to hold you and not be pushed away. Especially given that you were _allowing_ him to do so.

 

"Now bring one elbow up, angle it upwards. There you go. Now, if I were actually trying to grab you, you would throw your elbow back as hard as you could. That way you're likely to hit my throat or nose, and the instinctual response would be for me to let go."

 

And he did, arms falling away from around your middle gently. It wasn't until he let go that you realized you hadn't even thought to panic, to mistrust. And you hadn't realized just how gently he held you, guided you verbally into the proper movements. 

 

The next one you were more hyper aware of; proximity of his body, the deep and raspy cadence of his voice, and the level of tenderness he used to show you. 

 

"This one is how to break a chokehold. Turn around to face me." You obeyed, not quite meeting his eyes as you did. Bucky slowly brought his hands up and moved them toward your throat. He paid careful attention to your face for any sign of discomfort before placing the hands gently around your neck without squeezing.

 

You nearly shivered at the feel of his bare flesh against yours, and the cool silver of the other against your heated flesh. 

 

"Okay now bring your left arm up to the side of your face. You wanna trap my hand with your arm." You did as he said, forcing his flesh hand more firmly against your throat. He kept his hand lax. 

 

"Good. Now pivot your body to the side. You want to sweep my other hand up, trap them both against your side." 

 

The move left his arms trapped against your chest, your heart kicking up a notch at the brush of his arms against your chest. 

 

"Perfect." He murmured. "Now make a fist with your free hand. Keep your arm straight and swing it into the side of my face, hard." 

 

Without thinking you did exactly as he instructed, bringing your fist up to hit him hard in the side of his face. 

 

You could feel your flesh connect with his temple and stubbled cheek, the smack of it ringing throughout the quiet gym. Bucky grunted in surprise and, to yours, released you immediately and stumbled back. 

 

"Shit!" Your hand gave a much smaller throb than you anticipated, embarrassment washing over you in a tidal wave. It brought a surge of worry with it. 

 

"Bucky, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to--"

 

Your quick, fluttered apology was cut off by the sound of his soft laughter. He waved it off easily. "Don't apologize, that was perfect! You did exactly what I told you to do, Rocky." 

 

When he caught sight of your still worried expression he smiledsoftly. "Really, it's okay. I've been told I'm hard headed." 

 

"You're sure? I really didn't mean to." 

 

Bucky met your eyes sincerely. "Really, m'fine. You pack a good punch, do--Rocky. You want to try some more?" 

 

At his reassurance that he was, in fact, absolutely fine, you nodded. It was strangely exhilarating to have knocked Bucky back, and the moves could only benefit you. 

 

Beneath that excitement was something else, the barest flicker of something you'd thought you'd lost the ability to do. Against your better judgment, against your usual reasoning, you were starting to trust Bucky. Not that you ever planned to voice it aloud. 


	10. Chapter 10

Bucky continued to show you defensive maneuvers; how to get out of a headlock, how to balance your stance for the most effective hits, and so on. The drills were repeated again and again, until you no longer needed his verbal explanations or guidance to practice them. 

 

The light exercise left you covered in a light sheen of sweat, though Bucky wasn't even remotely winded. Not that you expected otherwise.

 

"Okay, now we're gonna go over some sensitive parts of the body to hit. Do you know any off hand?" He asked curiously, facing you from barely more than a foot away. 

 

"Uh...the throat." You replied quickly, letting your eyes fall to the expanse of his throat. 

 

Bucky nodded. "Good. The throat is an excellent spot to hit. It can be deadly, as well. But if it's your only shot you definitely take it. Anything else?"

 

Your lips nearly twitched as you thought of it. "Er...the um.." you gestured vaguely to his lower half, but pointedly didn't look.

 

He laughed easily. "Yeah, the genitals is always a pretty safe bet. Works better with men, but it does hurt women as well. Know any others?"

 

You tried to think of more but it was difficult with his steel blue eyes assessing you, waiting for an answer. Finally you relented with a shake of your head. 

 

"That's okay, Rocky. Nose is another good one. It only takes about 7 pounds of pressure to break it, which is doable for just about anyone. The break of cartilage and the blood alone will be enough to startle most. But it's also connected to the tear ducts, so your opponent will tear up naturally."

 

"Break the nose. Got it." 

 

Another soft chuckle from him. "This next one is a bit trickier." He stepped closer, leaving just a few inches between you. Slowly he took hold of your hand in his flesh one, guiding your hand up to his head behind his ear. 

 

It was impossible not to notice how silky the dark strands of his hair were, the rough stubble on his jaw brushing your palm as he guided your hand to nearly the back of his head. Once he had the right spot he let go to move his hand to the same spot on your own head. 

 

Long fingers carefully brushed aside your hair, prodding gently until he found the spot and pressed tenderly. It was more sensitive than you anticipated, but not painful. 

 

With the proximity of his body and his hand cupping your head you could feel the heat that radiated from him. Like he'd spent a day sitting out in the sun, and your own body felt cool in comparison. 

 

The contrast sent a shiver down your spine, warmth spreading through you so intensely it nearly knocked the breath from your lungs. 

 

"Do you feel that?" He husked, pressing just a little harder against the tender spot. You nodded, afraid that your voice would betray you. 

 

"That spot is an excellent spot to go for, if you can. Hit hard enough and you're practically guaranteed to knock your opponent out. Illegal, in most professional fights---but not something we have to worry about."

 

Smoothly his hand fell away from your head, back to where your fingertips still rested on his head. He took your hand once more, callouses rough against your smooth skin. His eyes trapped yours, unable to look away, as he guided his hand down his chest and over his ribs. 

 

Your heart kicked up a notch, throat running dry as your stomach flipped, uncertain, unwilling to even consider where he might be guiding your hand.

 

Because it definitely wouldn't be his cock, you told yourself. He stopped just below his ribs but not quite at his stomach. His body was firm beneath your touch, the steady rise and fall of his breath working as a sort of lullaby to your frayed nerves. 

 

"This," he murmured quietly, "is the solar plexus. Hard to find, unless you know where to look. Another good place to hit. Breathless."

 

You swallowed around the dryness in your throat, intending to speak but all that came out was a questioning hum.

 

Bucky smiled softly, tongue swiping out to wet his lips. "Hit here, and you'll take _their breath away_."

 

Your own breath seemed to hitch somewhere in your throat, his fingers squeezing yours reflexively but still gentle. Words caught somewhere between your brain and mouth, unable to come up with any sort of intelligent response.

 

It left you staring at him, locked into a staring contest you hadn't signed up for but were unwilling to be the first to break. 

 

"Sergeant, Miss Y/N, Agent Barton requested that I let you know there's pizza for you both outside the door--if you're hungry."

 

It was enough to startle you both enough that the trance was broken and, embarrassingly, your stomach growled at the mere mention of food. 

 

"Whaddya say, Rocky? Pizza sound good?" 

 

You nodded eagerly. "Perfect, I'm famished. You sure you trust Clint with your pizza though? I mean, after the tranq darts and all?"

 

Bucky snorted a laugh. "I'm not even remotely worried about the pigeon. Besides, we have only one rule with pranks or retaliation---you don't fuck with anyone's food."

 

You breathed a sigh of relief. Even the idea of someone doing something gross to food as a prank made your stomach sick. No thank you! "What happens if someone breaks the rule?" 

 

Bucky thought about it while he went to the door, returning shortly with two pizza boxes, a soft pout, and two bottles of water. 

 

"You know, I'm not actually sure. Depends on whose food it is, I guess." He laughed, settling himself down on the mat cross legged. 

 

Your box was labeled with a small drawing of a bow and arrow, clearly doodled by Clint. You didn't even need to open the box to know it was your favorite. 

 

You couldn't help but feel a rush of gratitude toward the archer, for not forcing you into a social situation---but still wanting to be sure you ate after your workout. 

 

It should have felt weird, eating pizza alone with Bucky in the gym you'd been training in. But it wasn't. He easily demolished two slices stacked atop each other before you even reached for your first. 

 

The silence as you ate wasn't awkward either, rather it was like many of the meals you shared with Clint--companionable with no pressure on your end to be social. 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry again I suck at replying to messages in a timely manner. I am a garbage human for that. Anyway, please don't stab me for this chapter and I really hope you enjoy because I agonized over this chapter and if it was fitting or not. I'm happy with it, though!

Your eyes narrowed at the dummy in front of you---it was almost creepily realistic; it was made with silicone and was fleshy to the touch, sculpted to resemble an actual human body. 

 

"Why am I looking at this, exactly?"

 

Bucky huffed a laugh, pushing his long fingers through his hair. "This is to practice your offensive moves, essentially." He nodded to the dummy. "Remember the weak spots we discussed?"

 

You nodded, stepping back when he motioned for you to do so. When you were safely out of the way Bucky struck, his flesh fist connecting with the front of the dummy's throat.

 

The eyes, which were two round discs lit up a bright red and a ding accompanied it. It was familiar in a way that had the corners of your lips twitching. 

 

"And you guys have just had this laying around?"

 

He ducked his head some, though you could see his cheeks pink slightly from behind a dark curtain of hair. "Uh...no. Sam made me watch The 3 Ninjas. Seemed like a good idea. Asked Stark if he could make one up for me. But he's always a bit over the top." He chuckled. 

 

Teeth sinking into your tongue to suppress a laugh you raised your brows at him, "Does this mean I should start calling you grandpa?"

 

He shot you a look. "Please don't." He nodded to the dummy once more. "Figured it would be good practice. All the weak spots make the eyes light up, when hit correctly. Eyes flash red and you've hit hard enough to incapacitate your opponent, or knock them out. Yellow means you've stalled them. Green you've made them angry." 

 

There was no stopping your snort. "Stark couldn't resist a jab at Hulk, huh?"

 

Bucky gave you a blinding smile. "Stark never passes up an opportunity to make fun of anyone. For example...."

 

He trailed off, taking a step back before kicking the dummy in what would be the genitals. The eyes lit up red, then white, then blue. The tune that played along with it was a small snippet of _America the Beautiful._  

 

"Bet the Captain took that well." You laughed, oddly pleased that the two leaders of the group would bag on each other like teenage boys. 

 

"Stevie knows how to have a laugh at himself." He shrugged, though the smile didn't fall completely from his face. "Why don't you give it a try?"

 

He stepped out of the way, motioning for you to go ahead. It felt odd to square up to the dummy, awkwardly adjusting your stance the way Bucky had shown you; thumb on the outside, wrist straight and body rotated so you could step into the punch for maximum effect. 

 

The first hit you aimed for the throat, a surge of pride flowing through you when the eyes lit up red along with the ding sound. 

 

Second you aimed for the genitals, just as Bucky had. Red again. It took a moment to remember another spot but, once you had, you made an effort to hit the solar plexus. 

 

Nothing.

 

Another strike, slightly adjusted. Still nothing. Again and again you tried with no results. With a huff you aimed for the side of the head, for that weak spot Bucky had shown you so tenderly. 

 

Still nothing. 

 

In frustration you growled, ready to tackle the stupid dummy to the floor to beat the nonexistent life out of it. Bucky stepped up behind you, making enough noise to be certain not to startle you. 

 

His hands settled softly onto your hips, head bowed so that he could speak quietly against your ear. "Breathe." He commanded gruffly, flesh fingers flexing gently on your hip. 

 

The action forced a sharp intake of air into your lungs, heat jolting through your body like an electric shock. "Relax your shoulders," he chided, hands moving to ease them down a bit. The left moved back to your hip, the right slid slowly down to your own right hand to guide it slowly to the solar plexus on the dummy.

 

"Right here, Rocky. Deep breath," he commanded once more, breathing deeply with you, chest brushing against your back, "rotate back," he moved with you, one foot sliding back as you rotated. "Now strike." 

 

Your heart kicked up several notches in your chest at his proximity. Still you forced yourself to exhale and strike as he encouraged. The eyes lit up red at last.

 

Bucky stayed close, so close that you could nearly feel his proud smile against the curve of your ear. 

 

"Now the head." Again he guided your movements slowly, showing you just where to strike. Another red light! There was no fighting your small whoop of victory, even if you had tried to suppress it.

 

His chuckle in your ear sent a delicious tingle down your spine. "One last spot, darlin'." 

 

You were so wrapped up in the scent of him, in the feel of his chest against your back, that you missed the term of endearment that had fallen effortlessly from his lips. 

 

His fingertips trailed down your arm once more, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Gently he opened your fist so that your palm was open and facing out. Bucky's long fingers slid between yours, nearly lacing your fingers together. 

 

"Upward strike, right into the base of the nose. This is most likely to break the nose, and cause the most damage." 

 

This time he guided didn't let go, guiding your hand in a swift move right into the base of the nose. Instantly the eyes lit up red and your chest filled with elation and pride.

 

Before you could even contemplate what you were doing, exactly, you whirled on the spot and threw your arms around Bucky's neck. He gave a small sound of surprise, his arms wrapping around your waist to return the embrace. 

 

"I did it, thank you James!" 

 

He felt his heart give a lurch in his chest, bright, white, light illuminating the darkest corners of his heart from the sweet sound of his name on your lips. 

 

His _given name_. 

 

"You're welcome, Y/N." He murmured tenderly, unable to reign in the affection that wanted to seep from his very pores and into yours. 

 

He should let go, take a step back---he wasn't trying to rush whatever this was, rush you. And then you pulled back enough to capture his eyes with your own and all the breath was punched right out of his chest. 

 

He felt like the dummy, as if his eyes had lit up to bare his very soul to you. The shift was easy, like the two of you had done so a thousand times before. 

 

Unbidden, his eyes stole a glance at your parted lips. Bucky was almost certain he hadn't leant in, but the two of you were drawing closer with each passing second.

 

And then your lips were on his, feeling the silk of his lips against yours. If he hadn't been enhanced he would have missed your soft sigh against his mouth. But he was enhanced and the gentle, needy sound sent a long forgotten thrill through him. 

 

He fell into bliss, nearly keening when your fingers carded into his hair to draw him ever closer, like a moth to flame.

 

And he was only too willing to burn. 

 

Almost as quickly as it started, it was over, your hands pushing his shoulders back. He went easily, still dazed from the kiss. 

 

You recovered more quickly, panic landing through your chest sharply. "I'm s-sorry, oh God. I'm sorry!" 

 

His brain was too slow to process what, exactly, had just happened. And by the time he gathered himself enough to speak you were gone, the door whooshing shut behind you with all the force of a slam to his enhanced hearing.

 

Long fingers came up to gently touch his lips, still tingling from the heat of yours. He was in deep. 


	12. Chapter 12

A kiss wasn't supposed to leave a mark that tingled for hours. A kiss wasn't supposed to turn your world upside down. It wasn't supposed to make you want more, to want to crack your chest open and let in everything you'd been desperately trying to keep out.

 

It wasn't supposed to make you feel so utterly, unashamedly claimed. And it wasn't supposed to keep you up the entire night, legs kicking restlessly at the sheets. 

 

_A kiss wasn't meant to sear a brand onto the fabric of your patchwork heart._

 

The trouble was, it had. Bucky's soft, warm lips against your own had done more to smash the steel walls around your heart then it ever should have. In retrospect, you should have seen it coming---

 

\--the tender way he would touch you, the husk of his voice in your ear. The cocky tilt of his lips, and his enduring patience. 

 

You glared over at the clock, groaning at the bright 3:00 AM plastered across it like a taunt. Four nights in a row you had been unable to sleep, unable to surrender to the sweet release of unconsciousness. 

 

Partly because you knew you owed the brunet super soldier some explanation, some form of apology for running from him. But how could you face him, when the mere memory of his kiss left you weak in the knees?

 

You dragged your pillow over your face to muffle your irritated scream. You hated confrontation, but could see no way around it. 

 

\---------

Bucky took a deep drag from the cigarette between his fingers, exhaling slowly to watch the cloud stream upwards in curls. The stars were muted, as always, with the city lights still blazing several stories beneath him. 

 

He didn't usually smoke but he liked to indulge occasionally---it made him feel a bit like a sixteen year old again, carefree and a little rebellious. Tonight it was more out of a need to do something, anything, than lay in bed and replay the memory of your kiss over and over until morning light spilled in through the windows. 

 

Long fingers carded through his hair and gave it a tug, as if he could pluck the thoughts from his wandering mind. 

 

"Nightmare?" Came the soft question behind him. Steve settled down next to him a moment later, shoulder bumping his comfortingly. A simple reassurance that needed no words---he was here for him. 

 

"No." Bucky huffed, taking another long drag to avoid explaining himself right away. "Just the opposite, in fact."

 

Steve cocked his head, brows furrowed. He looked every bit like a golden retriever. All he was missing were the floppy ears. 

 

Another drag, slow exhale. "I kissed her, Stevie."

 

He felt Steve straighten up, could practically feel the excitement coming off him in droves. "Bucky that's---"

 

Before he could say more Bucky shot him a look. "She ran away, punk. I mean...she kissed me back. It felt like she wanted me, too. But she _ran_. I fucked up."

 

Steve shook his head. "No, you took a chance. The ball is in her court now."

 

Bucky chewed on his bottom lip. "But what if she doesn't come back? I would..." he swallowed hard, "I just want her to know I'm still willing to train her. Even if one kiss is all the ever is."

 

He stomped the smoke out beneath his boot, wishing he could do the same with his overactive mind.

 

"She'll be back," Steve replied confidently. "I've never known a dame that was able to stay away from you." He nudged his shoulder once more. "Now stop moping. We've actually got a mission. It'll take a few days, then you'll be back in time for your next session."

 

Bucky rolled his eyes softly, but stood with him. "Anyone ever tell you that you're too optimistic?"

 

Steve snorted. "Yeah, you, every chance you get. Jerk."

 

His lips twitched into a soft, affectionate smile. "Punk." 

 

\----------------

Your heart was fluttering wildly in your chest, like a hummingbird was trapped in the cage of your ribs. Already a light sheen of sweat coated the back of your neck and your palms.

 

With a grunt of frustration you wiped them on your pants, twisting your fingers together as the seconds ticked by. 

 

The gym was quiet, stark in contrast to your loud thoughts. You'd worked for the better part of the morning on trying to steel your resolve, to hastily reconstruct the walls that Bucky had bulldozed through like they were made of construction paper. 

 

Your thoughts were so loud you almost missed the AI announcing Bucky's arrival, seconds before the door whooshed open. 

 

His eyes were bright blue, so brilliantly clear that it sucked the breath from your lungs. The dark silk of his hair was pulled back into a neat bun, a few day's worth of stubble decorating his chiseled jaw. 

 

It was wholly unfair how beautiful he looked. The red Henley he wore made his eyes look even bluer. He stepped into the gym carefully, eyes widened just slightly---surprised to see you had actually come back. 

 

The fluttering of your heart increased ten fold, stomach rolling and churning with unease. 

 

"We need to talk." You squeaked, wiping your hands on your pants once more. His lips parted and you _knew_ he would tell you that you didn't need to explain, that he understood. 

 

But he didn't. 

 

And you wanted him to. 

 

"Please, just listen." 

 

He nodded, "Okay, Rocky." 

 

He sat on a bench slowly and gracefully. But you didn't miss the slight wince, the briefest grimace of pain before he settled fully. 

 

"I..." your eyes swept over him, momentarily forgetting the talk you needed to have. 

 

"Are you alright, Bucky?" 

 

Bucky ducked his head slightly, tongue running over his lips to wet them. "I'm okay."

 

Your eyes narrowed. "You're lying. What's wrong? What happened?" 

 

He sighed. "I really am fine, cleared by medical and all." 

 

Your eyes narrowed even further, arms crossing over your chest. 

 

Bucky sighed once more. "After, okay? Just...you first." He didn't want his injury to sway or distract from whatever you had to say. It could wait, if you stuck around. 

 

After a few tense minutes of silence you huffed and let your arms drop to your sides. "Fine. Just...promise me you won't interrupt?" 

 

His eyes met yours, so soft and tender that your heart gave a flip in your chest. "I promise. I'm all ears." 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm super nervous about this chapter and hope you like it! Lots of dialogue, mentions of emotional/verbal abuse, mentions of violence (nothing too graphic).   
> I'm gonna go hide under a rock because now that I'm about to post it I'm second guessing myself on reader's story/past. Hope you all like!

"When I met Clint," you started, pacing back and forth to avoid looking at Bucky as you spoke, "I was a lawyer. A damn good one."

 

Bucky didn't miss the wistfulness in your tone, nor the anger. He bit down on his tongue and reminded himself of his promise. 

 

"A prosecutor, actually. My team...we went after all the men everyone else was top afraid to touch; corrupt politicians, dirty cops, mobsters." You swallowed hard around the lump in your throat.

 

"We were building a case against the Black family. They were a family that ran all of Staten Island. They had their hands in everything---women, drugs, weapons..." 

 

Bucky bit harder on his tongue. He had heard of the family, though the Avengers had not yet succeeded in finding a way to take them down with no, or minimal, bloodshed. 

 

Though you weren't looking at him, he nodded encouragingly for you to continue. 

 

"We built the case slowly for over a year.." a shuddering breath to center yourself, a poor attempt. "All of us knew we only had one shot. Everything had to be perfect."

 

You sat abruptly across from Bucky, drawing patterns on the mat with the tip of your index finger. "About a year in I met a guy, Logan Thompson." 

 

Bucky winced internally, not liking the way this was going nor the mention of another man. He scolded himself for it. He had no right to be jealous. 

 

"He seemed....perfect." Your throat already felt raw and jagged, pierced with all the words you had yet to say and the threat of tears. You bit the inside of your cheek until you tasted the coppery tang of blood. _You would not cry._

 

"He was my first...well, everything." Bucky wished desperately you would just look at him, meet his eyes---he gripped the bench, careful of his grip, to stave off the urge to hold you. _He promised._

 

Your brows furrowed as you stared down at the mat. "He said all the right things, you know? Logan was charming, thoughtful, funny, also a lawyer. And Clint did a background check---clean." A deeper wrinkle between your brows. "Everything was good. And then things started to change. He came home later and later, with no excuses at to where he'd been. Where he was thoughtful he became cold, distant. Talked down to me."

 

Bucky's jaw ticked, breath held tightly to suppress a growl. "I assumed he was cheating on me." 

 

He didn't like the hollow, empty sound of the laugh you gave. It clamped a vice around his heart. 

 

"So, after months of this I decided to find out. I thought I could fix things, make him happy again." Shit. Warmth prickled at your eyes but you refused to blink and allow the tears to fall. 

 

"I snuck into his practice when I knew he'd be gone. I hid in the closet." You wanted to be sick. "Thought I would surprise him. Be spontaneous." 

 

The room lapsed into silence once more, and it took every ounce of Bucky's self control to keep his mouth shut. It stretched on, the ticking of the clock plucking at his nerves with every soft tick. 

 

"I heard shouting before he came in. He wasn't alone...but it wasn't a woman, either. It was some of his employees and they....they had another man with them. I remember thinking he looked nervous." It was hard not to picture it as you spoke---remembering the dark of the coat closet, the hard and cold look in your boyfriendeyes eyes. 

 

Logan had a tight grip on the nervous man's arm, and there were three other men with Logan. Ones you had seen with him countless times. The nervous man you were certain you didn't know even in passing. 

 

"They...it...they started beating him. Took turns and I---I was so _scared_...I couldn't move, couldn't speak." The tears finally began spilling free, making hot tracks down your cheeks at the memory you were so ashamed of. 

 

"They were still speaking, but it wasn't English. They sounded so angry." You sniffled, nearly snapping Bucky's resolve. You still hadn't looked at him. 

 

"I thought they resolved whatever it was, you know? But Logan...he went over to his desk, calm as anything, and pulled out a gun. I didn't even know he _owned_ a gun. And he..." your breath caught, throat painfully tight as you fought to speak. 

 

"He killed him. Right there." You choked back a sob, hands trembling. "I must have made a sound, because next thing I knew it was just Logan and the..." you couldn't say 'body.'

 

"Then the closet opened and he pulled me out. Th-that's when he told me the truth. His name wasn't Logan at all, but Damon. Damon Black." 

 

Bucky gripped the bench tighter. "Son of Franklin Black, head of the family. We didn't even know he existed." You laughed bitterly, though it sounded more like a sob. 

 

"But he knew me. Knew that if he could get close to me, it would damage the credibility of our case--- _my_ case. The whole thing; all the evidence, any shred of proof would be thrown into question because I had slept with the enemy."

 

His muscles all tensed, jaw clenched so tight he was certain his teeth would crack. He wanted to go tear the spinal cord right from the entire family, with his bare hands. 

 

"And then he...he..." your stomach rolled painfully, breath coming in quick and shallow gasps. Bucky shifted slightly, afraid to push you or break his promise. But he couldn't let you have an anxiety attack, either. 

 

"He made me clean up." The words finally ripped free with a sob and Bucky couldn't have kept his promise if he tried. He all but leapt off the bench, nearly throwing himself at you. 

 

He had no control over his body as his arms wrapped around your waist. You collapsed against his chest with a sob that shattered his heart. Gently he rubbed soft circles on your back with his thumb, swaying into a soft rock as he shushed you. 

 

Still he kept quiet, only because he knew you had more to say. 

 

"I quit, after that. And I knew I had outlived my usefulness so I ran. He'd never laid a hand on me, but I had been so _wrong_ about everything else." 

 

Bucky tightened his hold around you, shushing you softly. "It isn't fault, you hear me? None of it." 

 

He felt you nod and sniffle against his chest, squeaking a reply. "I know." 

 

_But you'd still fallen for the long con._  

 

"I still should have known better. He was a monster, the rest of it was an elaborate lie. I'd always been able to spot a lie before him." 

 

Bucky pressed his cheek against the side of your head. "I understand why you don't trust me, doll. That's enough to shake anyone. Make you question everything." 

 

He bit his lip to keep from saying he wasn't Damon. You sniffled against his shirt again. 

 

"But I want to trust you. I do. I can't even trust _myself_." 

 

Bucky drew in a slow breath, "I know. And I know I should say that I'm sorry I kissed you. I'm not. But I'm not going to push you, either. Doll---I spent seventy years being pushed, controlled, made to do things I didn't want. I **won't** do that to you. 

 

He held you just a little tighter. 

 

"Not in any sense of the word. You have all the control here, okay? If you want to forget it happened, to keep training, I'll do that. You wanna stop training, I accept that. And if you want to take it slow, to be with me, I'll be right here." 

 

You pulled back from him slowly. "What about you? What do you want?" 

 

Bucky's eyes softened, flesh hand coming up to swipe away the last of your tears before letting his hands drop back to his sides. 

 

"I want whatever makes you happy. Simple as that. No matter what it means." 

 

You felt a rush of emotion towards him. He had seen the worst humanity had to offer, had been used as a tool to perpetuate it, had been a prisoner of his own mind for nearly half a century. If anyone had a right to be selfish, it was him. 

 

Bucky hadn't belittled your pain, though his own had to be so much greater. And here he was, comforting _you_ and giving you all the say. All the control. Even that wasn't enough to silence your doubt completely.

 

"What if I can't give you an answer right now?" 

 

He gave a soft, affectionate smile. "I'm not going anywhere. I have time to wait." He promised easily. "You just let me know when you're ready." 

 

Though, in the back of his mind, he hoped he wasn't going to end up with a broken heart. That was okay too---as long as you were happy. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figure we all know what it's like to be fooled, in some way or another. And that hurts most when it's from someone we love(d).


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't resist. Too much? *hides once more*

When you finally gathered yourself and the tears had run dry you remembered that Bucky was wounded. You had been so wrapped up in emotion that you nearly forgot. 

 

Sniffling, you put on your best brave face. "Now, will you tell me what happened?"

 

Bucky cursed inwardly. He was going to brush it off, not outright lie, but he didn't want to worry you. Now he knew he had to be honest, even if he was afraid you would pity him. He didn't want you to be sorry. 

 

However, he realized that anything less than the absolute, complete, truth, would be a betrayal. One he was not willing to commit against you. 

 

"We had a mission," he husked quietly, "I'm a bit beat up. Took a bullet."

 

He winced at your sharp intake of breath even though his soft heart gave a throb at the notion that you cared for him in some capacity. Even if it only amounted to not wanting him shot. 

 

After you had just finished explaining how your mobster ex boyfriend had shot a man in the head in front of you. And made you clean up the mess. 

 

A flash of rage crawled slow and hot up his spine. Few times in his life did Bucky make a conscious decision to put someone on his _list_. He knew, if given the chance, he would be the one to take out Damon. It should have terrified him---but he only felt the bone deep urge to protect you. Keep you safe. 

 

"You were shot?!" You squeaked in horror. "Let me see!" 

 

Bucky shifted slightly, cleared his throat. "I'm really okay, honest." He was silenced by the sharp look you sent him. 

 

With a sigh he gave you an apologetic look before reaching back for the neck of his Henley. He pulled it off in one clean movement, revealing his chest to you. 

 

There was the normal jagged, raised and red scars along his left shoulder where metal had been seared into flesh. 

 

Just outside the scarring was a mottled bruise, a hole that had been stitched shut. Still healing. 

 

There was a darker mottling of bruises down his ribs; red, purple, black and blue, and yellow. You sucked in another breath, new warmth prickling at the backs of your eyes. 

 

Bucky shivered, letting his own eyes fall shut. "Please don't cry for me, Rocky. And don't you dare be sorry for anything." 

 

Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip. "But....you still came to train me? You listened to me prattle on, let me cry on you while you had been shot? Were you gonna tell me?" 

 

He swallowed hard. He couldn't, wouldn't, lie to you. 

 

"No." Another swallow. "I wasn't." 

 

"Why not?" You asked so softly you were certain he hadn't heard you at all. 

 

"Because I don't want you doing anything just because you feel bad for me." 

 

He'd known coming into the gym that you might not be there, that you could reject him---and he'd been _shot_. 

 

It was overwhelming, how intense the knowledge was that Bucky was constantly putting your needs, your wellbeing, above his own. And you'd given him nothing. 

 

"You're a jerk, you know?" You scoffed, though he could hear the lilt of affection in the word. It reminded him of the way Steve called him a jerk. 

 

"I've heard that a few times." He conceded, tugging his shirt back on to cover the bruises he'd never intended you to see. 

 

"Yeah, well, you are. Perhaps the biggest jerk I've met." Your eyes were still misty, though he could see something else there too. Something that told him what you were really trying to say. 

 

He hoped you could see his answer as clearly in his own eyes. "And you're the most stubborn woman I've ever met." His lips twitched just slightly. 

 

\---------

Letting you leave after all of that had been hard. But the two of you knew training wasn't going to happen, and you needed time to figure out what you wanted without Bucky's desires to sway your decision. 

 

Bucky felt pent up, made obvious by the way he marched into Steve's quarters. 

 

"I need you to tell me not to do something stupid." He demanded his friend. 

 

Steve blinked slowly, setting his sketch pad on the coffee table. "Don't do anything stupid, Bucky." He crossed his broad arms over his chest. "Now, mind telling me why?" 

 

He dragged a hand through his hair. "She told me. And it ain't my story to tell---but.."

 

Steve nodded. "But it's a someone that hurt her. You want to hurt them." It wasn't surprising that Steve knew just what he'd meant. He was practically his brother, after all. 

 

"Yeah. But I really, really can't."

 

Beside him Steve sighed. "You wanna go spar? I like getting hit, remember?" 

 

Bucky took the distraction for what it was. "I don't think you could go all day with me, pal." 

 

Steve bit back a laugh. "You know shit like that is why people think we're gay, right?" 

 

Bucky stood with him, headed right for the door once more. "No, your fuckin khakis are. And _language_." 

 

Despite their banter, he found himself beyond grateful for Steve once more. For knowing Bucky really needed to hit something for now. For knowing that he would be much more rational afterwards. 

 

And for basically agreeing to have his best friend kick his ass. Later, he knew Stevie would get at least some of the story from him. Just enough so he could _keep _Bucky from doing something stupid.__

__

__Whatever Bucky did to deserve Stevie as his best friend, he might never know, but he was thankful beyond words for it. The man would undoubtedly lay down his life for Bucky's, would do anything he asked of him._ _

__

__For sure he was Steve's biggest weakness, and they both knew it. But Steve was also Bucky's biggest weakness. Had been his _only_ weakness. _ _

__

__He would be a fool to not admit you were one of his weaknesses now, too. The rage searing through him on your behalf proved that much. No matter the feelings it stirred within him, he couldn't be sorry for the chink in his armor._ _

__

__It made him feel more like a man, like the one he used to be. The one he wanted to remember how to be._ _


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seem too rushed? Also, Ruby, hope this helps a little ;)

For three weeks after your talk with Bucky, you didn't meet him for training. In order for you to decide what you wanted it had to be done away from Bucky-- even if he didn't mean to, his presence would sway your decision.

 

And how could it not, when he said all the right things, was endlessly patient, and so goddamn attractive? 

 

Finally you resolved to be honest with yourself. You _missed_ seeing him. It was an ache that settled deep into your chest and took root there. 

 

So, on the fourth week, you went to the gym. Bucky's eyes widened when he caught sight of you, and you could see the relief as the tension left his shoulders and they sagged. 

 

"Hey." You offered shyly. "I hope it's okay that we train today." 

 

Bucky sucked in a breath and gave you a reassuring smile. "Of course it's okay."

 

It was all the two of you said before starting training. There was a sort of awkward tension that filled the gaps between you, and the silence of unspoken words. You just weren't sure how to progress, exactly, and Bucky was afraid he would say the wrong thing entirely and send you running once more. 

 

Even with the thick tension between you, you both found yourselves lingering at the end of the session---wiping down machines, throwing towels into the hamper, and generally finding any reason to stretch it just a little longer.

 

You wanted to be normal, to just be able to ask him to have lunch with you or walk you home. It isn't what came out, when you finally found the courage to speak.

 

"So...I like food."

 

Bucky's head whipped around to face you, startled by the sound of your voice. Clearing his throat he offered, "I like food, too." 

 

The pair of you shifted, internally beating your heads into the walls for your idiocy. 

 

"Sorry, I'm bad at this." A nervous laugh followed and you busied yourself with fixing the strap of your bag over your shoulder. 

 

Bucky bit down on his bottom lip. "Bad at what, exactly?"

 

Your cheeks flamed hotly with nerves. "I'm trying to ask if you want to eat...with me. Right now." You cringed. 

 

He felt warmth flood his chest like it so often did when he was around you. You looked so fragile, so nervous, that it plucked at the strings of his heart. It was endearing. 

 

"I'd love to, Rocky." 

 

\-------

The diner you'd chosen was a 24 hour one, quiet and not too far from your apartment or the tower. The walk there had been just as quiet as training had been and you hated it. You just wanted to forget how broken you felt, the uncertainty that still weighed heavily on you. Not because of Bucky, but because you weren't sure there was enough left of your heart to give him--enough to make him happy. 

 

What if you weren't enough? The idea of a second heartbreak was almost more than you could bear. And the bond between you already seemed so fragile, the smallest miscalculation could sever it before it even truly began. Love was a risk. Caring was a risk. And it was startling to know you could still be willing to take that risk. 

 

"If I ask you something, would you be honest with me?" 

 

Bucky was the one to break the silence this time, over the remnants of lunch. Nervously you shifted in the booth across from him. "Yes."

 

He wouldn't meet your eyes and it made your heart lurch in your chest with unease. 

 

"Did you choose me because you know I'm a monster?" He had to know, because it had been bothering him. Was he chosen because you knew he was dangerous, what he had done? And was it the reason why you were so afraid to let him in? 

 

The sharp intake of breath across from him startled him enough to look up. His stomach crumpled and twisted, guilt gnawing at the marrow of his bones at the look on your face---one of hurt, and surprise.

 

"Bucky, _no_. I swear it. I...I chose you because I **know** that you're a good man. You could have run, after, could have started a whole new life for yourself." You shook your head. "You came back, even though they could have locked you away for the rest of your life for something _you_ didn't do. But I'd be lying if I said you having no secrets wasn't a part of it. Your entire life is public record." 

 

Relief crashed over him once more, and even more guilt for needing the reassurance from you. He desperately wanted to shift the mood to something lighter, less awkward. 

 

"I do have a secret, actually." He crooked his head to motion you closer, leaning into the table until your noses were nearly touching. "I sleep with a nightlight." He whispered conspiratorially. 

 

The laugh you gave in response was so genuine, so carefree, that he couldn't help but feel proud to be the reason for it. 

 

Tension finally broken the two of you got up to leave, Bucky insisting on paying for the lunch you had invited him to. Just outside the door you were struck by a sudden bolt of courage and, tentatively, brushed the backs of your fingers against his own. 

 

His hand was warm, radiating heat that made you feel cold in contrast. Just the small touch sent tingles down your spine. A grin tugged at your lips when he copied the move, brushing the backs of his own fingers against your hand. 

 

Even through the curtain of his hair you could tell he was smiling. Feeling brave, you allowed your fingers to lace through his. "Will you walk me home, James?" 

 

The use of his given name wasn't something he was accustomed to, and hearing you use it stole the breath from his lungs so swiftly that he had to focus hard not to kiss you. He wanted to, to steal the sound of his name from your lips again and again to see if it tasted as sweet as it sounded. 

 

Instead he smiled brightly back at you, squeezing your hand a little tighter. "I'd like that very much." 

 

A new kind of tension crept in slowly, like early morning fog. So slowly and so silently that you didn't notice it until you arrived at your door. "This is me." 

 

His eyes trapped your own, heart pounding a hard rhythm against your ribs as he lifted your hand to press a barely-there kiss to your knuckles. His eyes stayed on yours the whole time. 

 

Heat pooled low in your belly, body trembling from the gentle kiss. Fear was nowhere to be found, desire instead igniting you from the inside out. 

 

How he managed to do so with just a kiss to your knuckles was beyond you. You hoped your voice sounded less wrecked than you felt. "Thank you for walking me home, James, and for allowing me time to think."

 

His eyes darkened, the desire reflected back at you so sharp and intense and _restrained_ that you couldn't bear it any longer. 

 

"I should go, doll." He husked, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. 

 

"You should kiss me." You breathed barely above a whisper. Afraid to speak any louder and break the moment between you. 

 

Another bob of his Adam's apple. "You sure, sugar?" His breath came out in a shudder. "I need you to be sure."

 

Even as he said the words his hands came up to cup your jaw, flesh thumb stroking along the angle of it. "Just...go slow, okay?" You squeaked, tilting your head up to offer him your lips. 

 

Bucky let his forehead drop to yours, brushing his nose against your own to breathe hotly over your mouth. "I can do slow." He promised, sweeping his lips over yours before he claimed them slowly and sweetly. 

 

Your hands wound into his shirt, gripping tight, as he lead you into the single most tender kiss of your life. He took his time, kissing the corners of your mouth and the swell of your bottom lip as if to memorize them. As if he would never again get the chance. 

 

His hands stayed on your jaw like a gentleman, fingertips gently caressing the back of your head and the nape of your neck. Your heart was fluttering wildly, your body trembling against his own. 

 

And then his tongue, hot and wet, slid over your bottom lip. A whimper of need escaped as your lips parted for him, allowing his tongue to slip inside and glide against your own. 

 

Your body was on fire with need, with want, even as your lungs begged for air. Still you drew him closer, nipping at his bottom lip. His name was breathed between the scant space between you, the sound tightening his jeans at an alarming rate. 

 

Reluctantly he dragged his mouth from yours; his eyes were shut, lips wet and swollen from the kiss, and his breath was just as uneven as yours. 

 

He was even more reluctant to pull away from you, dropping one last kiss to your forehead. "I really should go now, Rocky, before I break my promise." 

 

Another whimper from you. "And if I asked you to stay?" 

 

He shook his head, taking a step back from you. "No. Not because I don't want to. I do, believe me I do. But I'm not gonna rush this. You might want me now, sweetheart, but rushing this will only ruin it." 

 

You took in a deep breath and gave him a nod. He was right. If he came inside now and gave you what you wanted, it was very likely that you would run. That it would be too much too soon. 

 

"I know, but you can't blame me for it when you kiss like that. No wonder you got all the ladies in the forties." 

 

He chuckled, pushing a hand through his hair. "Who says I kissed them like that?"

 

"Didn't you?" 

 

Bucky shook his head. "That was a first for me. But, to be fair, no one has ever said my name the way you do." He winked, taking another step back. 

 

"Tell me you'll see me next week, Rocky." He pled, unable to go without hearing you say so.

 

"No."

 

His heart sank for a beat before you smiled at him. "I was hoping to see you before then. You free day after tomorrow?" 

 

Even if he wasn't he would have cleared his entire schedule for you, excited that you couldn't bear to wait another week to see him. 

 

"Consider me all yours." He husked, the weight behind his words clear as day. It was nearly impossible to leave your side, but he had a date to plan. 


	16. Chapter 16

Checking the clock you cussed inwardly as you wriggled into your tightest pair of jeans, buttoning them as fast as you could. Next you yanked on the black shirt you had chosen for the night; it was nearly backless, silky, and had three-quarter sleeves. 

 

It was the sexist, though still modest tshirt you owned. With Bucky due to arrive any minute you threw your hair into a quick, messy bun, swiped some gloss over your lips and hastily fixed your eyeliner. 

 

To say you were nervous for your date with Bucky was an understatement. You were excited, but hadn't been able to stop thinking about the heart stopping kiss he'd parted with. 

 

Each time you thought about it your spine tingled and your belly pooled low with long forgotten desire. It had been a long time, so long, since you'd felt any sort of arousal. Desire. 

 

He had ruined you, and you were determined to give as good as you got. Slow was necessary, but it was hard to resist the urge to tease him. Last minute doubt hit you---would Bucky think it cruel of you to tease him? What if it turned him off? 

 

Your stomach dropped like an elevator with snapped cables--plummeting so quickly you wanted to be sick. Three sharp raps sounded on your door, heart catapulting into your throat. 

 

On the other side of the door was Bucky; dressed in a navy colored Henley, black skin tight jeans, leather boots and his worn leather jacket. 

 

His hair was down, and you were almost certain he'd caught on to preferring it down. His jaw was lined with the day old stubble that made your heart race. Just enough stubble to be slightly rough. It was impossible not to imagine it against your throat, the inside of your thighs. 

 

Bucky's eyes were the color of hazy summer, lips quirked into a hairpin curve that made you feel dizzy. 

 

You made a choked sound and instantly slammed the door in his face. "Are you kidding me, Bucky?" 

 

Even without seeing him, you knew he was giving that adorable, confused pout. "I'm not quite sure what that means, doll." 

 

You pressed your forehead to the door, forcing a deep breath into your lungs. "How am I supposed to control myself when you show up looking like _that_? It's cruel." You whined. 

 

Bucky chuckled, the honeyed gravel of his voice doing nothing to calm your racing heart. "I'm not tryna be a tease, darlin. You gonna come out, or should I go home and change first?" You knew the bastard was smirking. "Gotta say, I like this side of you though."

 

Your cheeks flamed even as you grabbed your purse and yanked open the door again. "Yeah, well, don't get used to it." You snarked to attempt to draw attention from just how badly he was affecting you. 

 

It was dizzying--to go from being so certain you had to stay away, to having to remind yourself that slow did not include dragging him inside your apartment and into your bed. You stepped out into the hall and whirled around to lock it. 

 

In your _appreciation_ of Bucky you'd forgotten your intent to torture him as well. Until he sucked in a shaky breath behind you. And he knew he shouldn't---but he couldn't help himself from dropping his voice a few octaves. 

 

"You wanna ride?" 

 

Your keys nearly slipped from your grasp as you fumbled to drop them in your purse. "What?" The catch in your breath was telling, as was the flush blossoming on your cheeks. 

 

Bucky wet his lips, "Is it okay if we take my bike? If not we can walk. S'not far." 

 

That wasn't something you could pass up, even though the mere idea of getting on the back of his bike had you feeling keyed up. "We can take the bike." Voice as even and unaffected as you could make it sound. 

 

Silently he offered his hand and you took it, letting him lead you out of the building. "Have I mentioned how breathtaking you look?" He hummed as his bike came into view. 

 

The sincerity in the words made you bite back a sarcastic retort out of habit, and the same nerves from earlier. "Thank you. I'm sorry I slammed the door on you." 

 

He smiled easily, offering you a helmet once at his bike. "I'm not. I'd be lying if I said I didn't like knowing I affect you, too." 

 

He tugged the helmet carefully over your head, clipping it beneath your chin. "You make me feel like a stupid teenager." You whined softly, more comfortable being honest with the visor blocking your face partially. 

 

Bucky's smile was something shy, soft, and confident all at once. "Good. That makes us even, then. I'm a nervous wreck." 

 

He climbed onto the bike with you slipping on behind him as gracefully as you could. 

 

"Ass." You huffed playfully. 

 

Though it was harder to believe he meant it with the crooked grin he threw over his shoulder. "Put your arms around me, Rocky. Hold on tight." 

 

Narrowing your eyes you did as he asked, tucking your face into the crook of his neck as your arms slid around his middle. "Like this, James?" 

 

He shivered visibly, heat throbbing through your core at the reaction. "Yeah, just like that." He husked, the engine revving to life between your thighs. Your hands gripped him tighter, breath hitching in your throat. _Fuck_ the vibrations felt torturously good. 

 

And with Bucky's body between your thighs, his scent on every breath, you were certain you'd be whimpering his name by the end of the night. Whether that was by his hand or your own was uncertain. 

 

But, god, you hoped it was his hands that would be on your body. 

 

Arousal blended with confusion when you pulled up to your destination. It looked like an abandoned building, this part of town darker and much quieter. 

 

"Bucky?" 

 

He seemed to sense your confusion, and slight trepidation. "Trust me, sweetheart." 

 

Despite your past, logic insisting that a date to an abandoned building with a guy was a bad idea, you did. And doing so was much easier than you had strength to voice. 

 

He kept hold of your hand, leading you into the dark building and up a few flights of stairs. Finally he came to a door, hinges squeaking as he pushed it open to reveal the roof of the building. 

 

It was lit softly with fairy lights, a blanket spread out with a picnic basket atop it and another folded neatly at the bottom. There was a metal bucket filled to the brim with ice, a bottle of champagne settled into it. 

 

Your mouth dropped open as you took in the scene, stars peeking out of the inky sky above you. Words failed you, tongue twisted up with a sudden rush of emotion. 

 

"Is it too much?" Bucky asked timidly, vulnerability laced through the question. 

 

Squeezing his hand tighter you shifted to meet his eyes. "No. I just...you did all this for me?" 

 

Tentatively, he nodded. "It is too much, isn't it? Promised you slow and here I've gone overboard. Too romantic for a first date." He rambled. 

 

It sent a gentle warmth through your chest. "It's perfect. That's the problem. It's supposed to be harder to feel like this again, but you make it so easy. I don't know how you do that." 

 

Bucky's eyes fluttered shut. "I didn't think I would ever remember what this felt like again. Hell, I'm certain I've never felt this way. You make it easy, too." He swallowed hard. "You still wanna know what I want?" 

 

All you could do was nod, hanging on every word. "I don't wanna mess this up, scare you away. I want you to stay, with me, and give me a fighting chance." 

 

Tears stung at the backs of your eyes. "I don't wanna run. I want to have a picnic under the stars, with the biggest jerk I know." 

 

Bucky felt his chest throb with affection once more at the 'insult.' He tugged you slowly towards the blanket, hope igniting deep within his chest. 

 

"Sandwiches and fruit okay? I made a few different kinds just in case. There's cheese, too." 

 

If the man got any more adorable, you were sure to spontaneously combust. "I gotta say, I like this side of you." You teased softly, because he had earned that one. 


	17. Chapter 17

The picnic under the stars was more romantic than any date you'd ever been on, nibbling on fruit and cheeses beneath the scant stars and the light of the moon. It all felt too good to be true, and happening to you of all people. Conversation was easy, ranging from your childhoods to your favorite music, colors, books. It was all too easy to talk for hours with him. 

 

When the temper dropped it sent a shiver down your bared back. Without missing a beat Bucky stripped off his leather jacket and draped it over your shoulders. His warmth enveloped you immediately, the smell of him invading your senses with every inhale. 

 

You couldn't resist burying your nose into the worn leather to breathe it in. Bucky's hand slipped up the back so his thumb could brush along the bare skin of your back. 

 

"That better, doll?" The honeyed gravel of his voice in your ear and the teasing brush of his thumb quickened your heart, bursts of light trailing up your spine. 

 

"Much better. Thank you, James." Tucking yourself further into his side you took a deep breath, to gather the courage to address the sudden anxiety that rolled through you. 

 

"I know you keep asking if I'm sure but, are you? I mean I can be a lot to deal with. I'm moody, the anxiety...which really isn't fair for me to put on you, after what you've been through." You were rambling, you knew, but couldn't seem to stop. "Won't you get sick of reassuring me? I mean, there are women who would be so much easier to be with." 

 

He stopped your rambling with a hand over your mouth--gently, his eyes bright with amusement. "I'm sure. And trauma isn't a competition. I don't want you to ever feel like you can't be honest because you think I had it worse. As for easy?" He let his hand fall away from your mouth to cup your jaw, sure that your eyes were locked on his. 

 

"There's no one easier for me to be around, or to want." 

 

Warmth spread through you like sunlight, heating you from the inside out. "It's hard to believe you're real sometimes. Men like you just don't exist."

 

Bucky lifted a brow, his lips twitching into that crooked grin you'd grown so familiar with. "That so? How can I prove that I'm real, then?"

 

You snorted, leaning into his touch. "Try having some goddamn flaws, for one. Or you could kiss me." 

 

He took the latter option, dipping slowly like the first time and your eyes fluttered shut in anticipation. The stubble of his jaw touched first, scratching softly against your jaw in a teasing caress. 

 

His breath teased at your lips, stealing a whine from you before he silenced the needy sound with his own. Like the first time you found yourself completely wrapped up in him, back arching to press your chest against his. 

 

The groan that left his chest had molten heat pooling in your core, dampening your panties beneath the skin tight jeans you'd worn. He dragged you closer still as his tongue swept into your mouth and took all rational thought with it.

 

Your hands fisted his hair and the back of his shirt, tugging when he nipped at your bottom lip. He sucked it into his own mouth, drawing another whimper from you. 

 

But he didn't stop there. While you dragged in much needed breaths his lips dropped to your throat, making sure to kiss every inch of the exposed skin--to find every spot that made you sigh or squirm with pleasure. 

 

The desperate need from earlier came back with a vengeance; your thighs shivered, head dropped back to bare more of your throat to the searing heat of his mouth. 

 

"James.." you gasped, breaking off into a moan when his teeth grazed your pulse. His own breath was ragged against your throat, forehead resting on your shoulder. 

 

"Fuck, the way you say my name." Both hands slid beneath his jacket on you, squeezing your hips before sliding up your ribs. "Look so fuckin' good in my jacket, too." A kiss to your collarbone. 

 

A visible shudder racked your body and he paused instantly. "I should stop. This seems a bit fast."

 

Your breath caught, a needy whine the only sound you could make for a moment. "Don't. Please don't stop."

 

Bucky's eyes squeezed shut with a deep groan. "Doll, I won't make love to you on the roof. Slow, remember?"

 

Another whine. "Slow doesn't mean a complete stop, though. I'm not saying we go all the way...but there are other things we can do." You purred suggestively. 

 

His teeth sank into his lip, eyes studying your face to be sure there was no hesitation there. When he found none he gave a barely perceptible nod. 

 

"You want to stop just say so, alright?" He kissed your throat once more, coaxing you to lay back on the blanket. "Just let me take care of you." He insisted when your own hands began to wander. 

 

Your hands obediently kept still, wound into his hair and back of his shirt once more. Torturously slow his own hands slid under your shirt and up your body to cup your breasts. 

 

His thumbs swept over the hard peaks of your nipples over your bra before pushing the lace up and out of the way. Again his thumbs brushed over the buds, pinching softly with his thumb and forefinger before giving both a tug. 

 

Your back arched up off the blanket, a needy, choked, sound falling from your open mouth. "Oh, god.." Arousal soaked your panties, made your core throb with want.

 

"So sensitive." He hummed, mouth laying claim to your collarbone once more. "Bet I could get you to cum just from this." Another tug, his fingers pinching and rubbing to find what you liked most. 

 

"More," you begged, thighs parting of their own accord. Mad with need you hooked a leg around his hips, forcing his pelvis down onto yours.

 

Bucky moaned deep and husky, hips rocking into yours on reflex. "Mm, fuck. Thought I told you to let me take care of you." He scolded without heat. Your shirt was pushed up to bare your breasts to his gaze and the cold air tightened them further. 

 

It did nothing to quell the inferno blazing through you. "Please." 

 

The single word seemed to be all the encouragement he needed to latch his mouth onto one nipple, teeth grazing the skin before soothing the sting with his tongue. 

 

His hips arched up and away from you but before you could even think to complain, his flesh hand undid the button and zip to your jeans and slid inside to rub you over your underwear. 

 

"You're soaked." He gasped with you, long fingers rubbing the length of your slit to your clit. He rubbed it in hard, slow circles. "Fuck, the sounds you make." 

 

Dizzy with his praise you could do little more than grip his hair tighter as he kissed and bit and sucked at your chest. Needy whimpers and moans the only sounds you could force out through the haze of blinding pleasure. 

 

Your hips buckled against his hand, nails digging into the back of his neck needfully. "Touch me." You gasped between breaths. 

 

With a growl his hand slipped beneath the soaked fabric to tease your opening. The tip of his middle finger barely pressed in, stroking teasingly as his thumb brushed over your clit. 

 

"Oh! Oh..." your eyes squeezed shut, thighs shivering uncontrollably as he touched you. He was soft, reverent, still murmuring praise against your heated skin. 

 

"Look at me." He commanded tenderly, thumb circling faster. Helplessly you obeyed, eyes caught in the blazing steel of his own.

 

"Cum for me." He begged. "Want you to cum for me, sweetheart." 

 

It was your undoing, mouth screwing open into a silent scream as your back arched off the blanket. Your heart hammered so hard you feared it would leap right out of your chest. 

 

You felt it roll through your body in a wave of electric shocks, starting at your toes and ending somewhere behind your eyes. Your thighs clamped down around his hand as you gushed, hips jerking unevenly as you soared. 

 

He watched you raptly, kissing the corners of your mouth as you came down slowly. As your vision cleared Bucky sucked the tip of his middle finger into his mouth, tasting your arousal with a deep hum. 

 

Boneless and sated as you were, watching him suck your slick from his finger sent another wave of heat through you. "You sure I can't take care of you?" Pouting at him, you let your hand unwind from his shirt to trace the waist of his jeans. 

 

He blushed suddenly, pushing a hand through his hair as he chuckled nervously. "I...uh..." he cleared his throat and lifted his brows to convey the message. "Watching you was more than enough, doll. Next time." He promised, wincing slightly as he shifted. 

 

"As much as I hate to call this a night, I should get cleaned up." He sighed, pulling you up to sit beside him once more. Bucky pressed a kiss to your temple. "Think you can walk, or shall I carry you?" He teased. 

 

You swatted his arm sharply, though you couldn't hold back a girlish giggle. "If that wasn't the best orgasm of my life I would have a snarky reply to that, you jerk."

 

His responding grin was almost bright and toothy. "Yeah, but now I'm _your_ jerk." 

 

And the mere idea of him belonging to you, being yours, was enough to silence any witty retort you might have come up with. Bucky Barnes said he was _yours_. 


	18. Chapter 18

Bucky showered off quickly once he got back to the tower, slipping into a pair of his usual black sweats. He didn't bother with a shirt, knowing he would grow too overheated in the middle of the night. His room was pitch black, thanks to his black out curtains. 

 

Not that he needed much light to see, anyway. He'd spent so long living in the shadows that he practically was one--could still be, when needed. 

 

His eyes rolled almost as soon as he shut the door behind him. "I know you're there, punk."

 

There was a click and his room was suddenly bathed in soft, golden light from his lamp. Steve pouted at him from his armchair. "Aw, c'mon. I was gonna do the whole 'where have you been?' routine."

 

Bucky snorted. "I perfected the waiting in the dark surprise, remember? And you _know_ where I've been, dad." He chuckled. 

 

Steve's pout deepened. "Jerk. How did the date go?" The pout fell away to reveal his bright, excited eyes and eager posture. He looked every bit like a golden retriever waiting for a treat from his master. Bucky bit back a laugh. 

 

"It went good." He shrugged as if it was no big deal.

 

His best friend whined. "That's it, Buck?"

 

He narrowed his eyes menacingly, though there was no real threat behind it. "Yeah, that's it. You're a total gossip slut. Don't think I've forgotten." 

 

Steve gasped sharply, hand slapping over his heart dramatically. "Am not!" 

 

The brunet raised an eyebrow at him in challenge. 

 

"Okay, so maybe a little. But you know I wouldn't spill your secrets, Buck. It's just good to see you happy. You gonna fault me for that?" 

 

Bucky exhaled heavily. "No. It feels good to be happy. It was....perfect, Stevie. She's incredible, you know? She makes..." he swallowed hard, nervous to admit it, "she makes me feel like falling off that train was worth it. Worth it if I can be the one to make her smile."

 

A soft, affectionate smile pulled at Steve's lips. "You're falling for her." 

 

It wasn't a question and they both knew it. And he didn't need Bucky to confirm it. "I'm happy for you, Bucky, really." 

 

The pair exchanged goofy grins, trying to pretend like they both weren't akin to giddy school girls. 

 

"That's not the only reason I came by, though." 

 

Steve pulled a folder out from behind his back. "I did some digging on Damon, and the black family in general to try and find an in." 

 

Bucky's shoulders tensed, back straightening to attention. "What'd you find?" 

 

A deep exhale, frustrated. "Not much. This guy is good, Buck. Smart. Doesn't leave a trail. I'm still digging, cashing in favors."

 

His chest tightened with emotion. "Thank you, Stevie."

 

He waved it off. "I wanna get this guy, too. But I do have this." He opened the folder to slide out the only page inside--a glossy, grainy black and white photo with only one face on it.  Before he could take it Steve pulled it back.

 

"Are you sure you wanna do this, pal? We're gonna get this guy either way. Doesn't have to be involve you." Steve explained gently. 

 

Bucky shook his head. "I know, but I wanna do this." He took the photo slowly, taking a deep breath to settle himself before looking at the face on it. The face that had broken your heart, killed a man in cold blood in front of you---and, worst of all, made you clean up the mess. 

 

"Have you told her yet?"

 

Guilt dropped into the pit of his stomach, gnawing at him from the inside out. "No."

 

Steve let his breath out slowly. "Are you going to?"

 

"I have to, Stevie. I don't wanna lie to her." 

 

He nodded, standing slowly to make his leave. Before he could go, Bucky grabbed a hold of his wrist. Without a word he hauled the man into his chest, wrapping him into a tight hug. 

 

"I dunno how I'm supposed to thank you. Not just for this, but for everything."

 

Steve huffed a laugh, tears threatening the backs of his eyes. "You don't. It's enough to see you happy." 

 

The two kept hold of each other, pretending not to hear each other sniffling slightly. "By the way, pretty sure _this_ is why people think we're gay." 

 

Bucky barked out a laugh, shoving him away gently. "Nah, I'm pretty sure it's still the khakis." 

 

He waited until the door clicked shut behind Steve to pin the photo to his wall, eyeing the blurry photo as if he could make it clearer.

 

His stomach gave another turn as he thought of you, of what you might say when he told you he was planning to take down your ex. 

 

Bucky knew it would be emotional, would dredge up memories you'd rather forget. But if he could take him out, make sure he could never hurt you again, it would be worth it. What if you asked him not to? What if you shutdown completely? 

 

What if he lost you, before he'd ever gotten to call you his? 

 

And what would Clint say? He knew the archer had no idea about your date. If he did he would surely have confronted Bucky already. Clint was his friend, sure, but he'd known you longer. He was like a brother to you. 

 

All the what ifs and maybes and potential scenarios insisted on playing on a loop through his mind, and he knew sleep would be futile. Impossible without answers. 

 

The only certainty he knew was that he meant it when he said he was yours. As casually as he'd said it, there was no denying it. You'd stolen into his chest and taken claim over his heart. And Bucky _always_ protected those he cared most about. Taking out Damon was the best way he knew how to do that. 

 

He'd be a fool if he didn't recognize the risk of losing you in the process. He was yours, but you'd never said you were his. Desperately, he tried to convince himself that your safety would be enough. Even if it meant you would never be his. 

 

The smaller, selfish part of him wasn't so sure. For the first time in a long time he prayed, prayed that he could have both. 


	19. Chapter 19

Bucky took a deep breath outside the gym, swallowing around the lump in his throat. It wasn't often that he got nervous--the most dangerous missions, Steve's dad/Captain voice, pissing off Natasha, none of those things scared him. The only thing he had truly ever feared was the chair at HYDRA, until now. 

 

He knew he had to tell you the plan, to make you understand he meant to take Damon out. And not for a fancy dinner. The mere scent of the man was enough to throw you into a full blown panic, and talking about him had taken a toll on you. With you being so effected he could draw only one real conclusion---you had _loved_ him.

 

Of course you didn't say it, didn't voice it, but he knew what it was like to be betrayed. To be shown kindness and torture in the same breath. HYDRA had been cruel, but the worst they had ever done was make him believe some of them could be kind. Maybe even cared for him.

 

The fact was, though, that Bucky had to do it. He had to be sure Damon could never hurt you again. Because, if left alone, the past would always come rushing up to meet you as it had him. It wasn't something easily blamed on decades of torture. He'd been of that mentality for as long as he could remember. 

 

If some asshole came after Steve, threw punches at the frail boy? Bucky would break their noses or hands, make sure it wouldn't be a problem again. With people like Damon, though, the only way to be sure was the most final of ways. Death. 

 

He took another breath and squared his shoulders before asking the AI to announce his arrival as always. 

 

\-------------

You were downright giddy to see Bucky again, there was no other word for the girlish excitement sending your heart and stomach into somersaults. Such a feeling, before, would have been met with fear. The feeling would have been shoved down and back as far as you could manage, the embers smothered under shaking hands. 

 

Now, though, you found you didn't want to hide it. You wanted to bask in the feeling, revel in the way it made your toes curl and your blood sing, made your skin tingle. You'd even put more effort into your appearance--messy bun, light makeup, tight workout tank and skin tight black yoga pants. Just enough to show you wanted to look pretty _for him_. 

 

A smile pulled at your lips, dopey and goofy, and you let it. As soon as the gym doors opened you made for the door, watching Bucky's eyes light up at the sight of you and a smile of his own quirk his lips. 

 

"Hey, doll," the familiar, husky, drawl sent shivers down your spine. Your lips were on his in the next breath, eager to show him just how much you missed him. 

 

Bucky moaned softly against your mouth, fingers winding into your hair as his other arm slid around your waist to crush you to his chest. You went with a breathy, elated, sound and wrapped your arms around his shoulders to cling to him. 

 

Your teeth nipped at his bottom lip, sucking the flesh into the heat of your mouth. He returned your enthusiasm in kind, pressing your back into the wall as he kissed the breath right out of you. Not one to be outdone, you pulled your mouth from his to kiss along his stubbled jaw and down the column of his throat. 

 

He growled low in your ear, breath ragged as his grip tightened on your hair. "Baby.." he gasped, words faltering as you bit down on his throat. Bucky could feel you sucking a bruise into his skin, making him as your own, and he was helpless under the blissful thought of it. 

 

Until reality knocked sharply in the back of his mind, reminding him of what needed to be done. "Baby," he tried again, "sweetheart, wait, wait." 

 

Your answer was a whine of disapproval, mouth moving down to his collarbone--bared to your sweet, greedy mouth by the handful of his shirt in your fist---the collar stretched to reveal it to your wandering mouth. He bit his lip hard to choke back the needful sound that threatened to arise. "I need to talk to you." 

 

With a pout you broke free from his collarbone; cheeks flushed with desire, eyes shining and lips swollen from kisses, hair tousled from his hands. And _fuck_ , he wanted to memorize this moment forever, the way you were looking at him. He wished he didn't have to tell you, but he did. 

 

"Can't it wait? I missed you." He feels the words burst into his chest to flood it with warmth and light, the muscle of his heart clenching as if trying to hold onto the fleeting feeling. 

 

"No, it can't." He sighs, flesh hand cupping your cheek tenderly. His thumb trails over your jawline, helpless to stop caressing the silky smoothness of your skin. 

 

Your pout deepens, though hope kindles in his chest as you lean into his hand. "What is it, James?" 

 

Like a bandaid, he tells himself with an internal grimace. "It's about the Black family. About Damon." 

 

And, like flipping a switch, the exuberant look falls away from your face and your eyes glass over into something cold and guarded. So familiar that it physically hurts him to see. He can practically feel the walls you're throwing up hastily. "Oh. What about him?" 

 

There's an indifferent edge to your voice that's unsettling for him. Too sharp. Guilt snags his throat because he swiped the happy look from your face----the one that was so happy to see _him_ , and he's also responsible for wiping it clean to be replaced by the mask of cold indifference. He hates himself just a little more for that. 

 

But he has to soldier on. "They've come up on our radar before and, after we spoke, I went to Steve. Didn't give him any details about what he did to you. We agreed it's time to take them down." 

 

A deep crease of confusion and anger settles between your brows, eyes narrowed slightly. "They're not just gonna let you arrest them." You scoff. 

 

Bucky winces, swallows hard. "I know. We mean to take them out."

 

You pull yourself from his arms, creating space between you where there was none before. It sends an ache through him, though he knows better than to push just yet. 

 

"Take them out?" Try as he might he can't identify the emotion that makes your voice crack. 

 

"Yeah." He confirms quietly, hesitantly. 

 

He watches you piece together the words slowly, let them sink in and settle. "You're going after Damon."

 

It isn't a question, and he doesn't pretend it is. "Yes." 

 

In the next breath you duck under his arm to get away from the wall, pacing quickly back and forth. "I didn't ask you to do this." 

 

Bucky can only shake his head in agreement. "I know." 

 

You shake your head hard, twisting your fingers together as you pace. Some part of you feels like you should have expected this, but you didn't. They're going after the Black family, Bucky after Damon in particular. 

 

Against your will images flash behind your eyes---first Damon, in a pool of blood with Bucky standing over him victoriously. Second it shifts to Clint, with Damon standing over him. 

 

With each ragged breath you take in the body changes to faces you know, even if you hadn't met them; Steve, Natasha, Wanda, Sam, Bruce. And then it's Bucky, eyes blank and hollow and his mouth open and twisted into a silent scream of pain. A gaping maw of darkness, of silence. One that can no longer laugh or kiss or tease or grin at you in that crooked way.

 

You're not sure how you ended up on your knees, painfully struggling to gasp in breaths. Your hands are slick with sweat, but your mind twists and morphs until they appear sticky with blood. The blood of earth's mightiest heroes, Bucky's, your own, Damon's. The man whose name you'd never learned. So much blood. 

 

Bucky cusses to himself but falls to his knees beside you, taking your hands into his own as gently as he can. One he settles directly over his heart, exaggerating his breaths as much as he can while his thumb makes soothing circles on the back of your hand.

 

"I know this is a lot to take in, but you have to breathe for me sweetheart. I've got you. Just breathe for me. With me." 

 

Your breaths are only slightly more even when you speak again, eyes pleading and shining with tears. "Please don't do this."

 

Bucky wishes he could lie, if only to wipe the terror from your face. "I have to. He's dangerous." 

 

"Please, I can't have more blood on my hands." You whimper, the sound nearly shattering his resolve. Nearly.

 

"It won't be on your hands, Rocky. We always meant to take them down." 

 

Your head shakes so quickly your vision blurs and it threatens to send your breakfast up from your stomach. "But would you kill him, if I had said nothing?" 

 

The question gives him pause. "If I had to, yes." Because every mission is different, death isn't always the guaranteed outcome. It's more likely, sure, but not an absolute. 

 

"He could kill you," you sob, breaths turning just a little more ragged.

 

"He won't get the chance." He means to sound reassuring, positive. But instead it comes out cocky, as if he's invincible. Impervious to someone as weak as Damon. 

 

"Please," you try again, because you have to. Because you need to. "I just found you. Don't do this. Just say you'll be with me, say you'll let this go. For me." 

 

You can't bare the thought that Bucky, that any of them might not make it out alive. Because of you, because of what you'd told Bucky. 

 

He feels his chest squeeze again and he nearly caves, nearly gives in because you're not at all worried about harm coming to Damon, you're worried about him. Because you're begging him to just be _with_ you. Even though he knows he has to, that there is no other way, his heart nearly collapses in on itself with hatred. 

 

"I can't. I have to do this." He can feel the warm sting of tears behind his eyes, blinking doing nothing to tame the emotions welling up within him. This is who he is, and it's so intrinsic he can't fight it. Doesn't want to, if he's honest with himself. Damon deserves to die. He just wishes it didn't hurt you this much. 

 

And then your hands are yanked from his with such force that it nearly floors him, so quick it punches the breath from his lungs. 

 

"I'm sorry. I don't...I can't just sit and wait and hope that you come back to me. It's...this is too much." 

 

By the time he has breath enough to argue, the will to move, you're already gone and the gym is nearly demeaning in its silence. 

 

You'd ran from him again, and again he'd done nothing to stop it. But this time, for the first time, he's not certain you'll be back. Not even strong enough to allow himself to hope that you will be. 


	20. Chapter 20

Bucky's fist connects with the punching bag with an audible _smack_ , the bag swaying slightly on the chain connected to the ceiling of the gym. Sweat is pouring down his back, new drops forming along his hairline. A deep grunt unfurls from his chest as he hits the bag again, relishing in the sound his flesh makes against the bag and the clink of the chain. Control. That's what he needs. 

 

Three weeks. _Three fuckin weeks_ he hasn't seen you, and it hurts so much more than he expected. He _feels_ the hollow echo of your presence in the gym, can hear the muted memory of your laughter, his name on your lips, the staccato beat of your heart. 

 

It's like the phantom pain he'd felt after losing his arm, before it was replaced with the metal he could hardly feel through. There was just a stump for several days while they built him a new one, but he could still _feel_ the hand that wasn't there. 

 

Could feel the bone deep itch in his palm, the searing burn in his fingers. There was no way to soothe it, no way to make his brain understand that his arm wasn't there anymore. At the same time it was almost comforting. If he closed his eyes, could feel it, it was like it was still there. 

 

The memory of you plagues him in the same way--the etchings of you in his head almost enough to fill the empty, gaping maw in his chest. And he feels as though he's lost you, even if you're only a few blocks away. 

 

And it could be worse, he chastises himself. He could be like Steve---martyed himself into the ice for 70 years, woke up with the love of his life old and dying and unable to remember him for longer than a few spare minutes, only to lose her shortly after. It was cruel and one look at Steve is enough to know it's never stopped hurting. 

 

This, though? He can control this---the smack of his fist against the bag, the rapid beat of his heart (mangled as it may be), and the deep, even, breaths between loud grunts. It isn't enough, though, to drown out the ache in his chest completely. His left arm whirs and clicks, plates moving fluidly as he swings. 

 

The metal connects sharply with the bag with all the force of a truck, snapping the chain to send the bag soaring across the gym. It lands with a thud and a skittering sound, the sand spilling out over the floor. _Fuck._  

 

He turns away from the mess to snatch up his water bottle, a familiar figure floating on his peripheries. Wiping away the sweat from his eyes, he curses in Russian and downs the last of the bottle--capping it before tossing it over his shoulder. It lands in the garbage can across the gym with a soft clang. Perfect shot. 

 

His body is exhausted but, apparently, his mind is still active enough to torture him with your mirage. Bucky could almost laugh at that, at being plagued by something other than a nightmare---if it didn't hurt in an all too similar way.  And then he hears a throat clear that sounds an awful lot like you. 

 

Bucky's body whips around to face you, toweling the sweat from his eyes quickly so he can be sure of what he's seeing. 

 

And there you are; hair tousled and messy, eyeliner smudged beneath your eyes slightly, a baggy rumpled shirt, black pajama bottoms and two shoes that don't match--one a black converse and the other a pink ballet flat, hoodie thrown over and partially unzipped. 

 

His brows furrow, taking in your figure slowly. His visions of you had never been that clear, or so mismatched. It's late, he knows, nearing midnight according to the clock on the wall. 

 

Your teeth drag over your bottom lip, a small squeaking sound rising from your throat before you speak. "Is this a bad time?" 

 

Stunned, all he can do is shake his head for a moment. "No." A beat. "Did you walk here?" Despite you being safe and, clearly, unharmed, it is late and New York isn't known for being friendly. And why you're here three weeks after running from him. Trouble seems to be the likely answer. "Something happen?" 

 

His chest fills with light again when you laugh, breathy and self deprecating. "I'm an idiot." You tell him softly, so softly he nearly misses it. "Maybe the biggest idiot in the whole world." 

 

Bucky is afraid to hope, cocking his head to the side to study your body language--the nervous way you twist your fingers together, tuck your hair behind your ear. He hopes he didn't frighten you. "Yeah? Why's that?" 

 

Another breathy laugh, but this one sounds wet and strained and it pulls at his heart. "I keep running from this really great guy. He can be a bit of a jerk, but he's incredible." 

 

A lump lodges itself in his throat. "Maybe he's the idiot." He counters, tucking his hands into his pockets. "He shoulda ran after you." 

 

He warned himself not to hope, but his stupid heart has always been stubborn. He feels it jump at the soft blush that dusts over your cheeks. A sight for his sore eyes, one he will never tire of. 

 

"Am I too late?" The crack in your voice is telling, even if he weren't trained to hear it. 

 

"Too late for what?" His own voice sounds rough to his ears from lack of use and lack of sleep. 

 

"To come running back, instead of away." 

 

His heart gives another lurch, as if trying to catapult his body to you. Bucky shakes his head, steadies his breathing. "No, but if you do it has to be for good, doll. I can't watch you run again." He admits gently. 

 

Bucky watches you shift from foot to foot, swallow down your nerves. "Will you catch me?"

 

Without a sound he takes his hands from his pockets, spreads his arms wide for you. "You trust me?" He counters back in challenge. 

 

And that's all it takes before you're rushing him, body slamming into his chest as you leap the last foot into him. He lets you throw yourself at him, lets his arms circle around your middle to hold you to his sweaty chest. 

 

"I'm sorry." You croak from where you're nuzzled into his throat. He hushes you, holding you a little tighter to him before he begins walking with you in his arms. 

 

"Let's find somewhere else to talk, hm?" 

 

He doesn't miss the relieved sigh against his neck, your breath sending shivers down his spine. 

 

"Okay. I trust you, James." 

 

And just like that, the gaping abyss in his chest fills almost to the brim. 

 

"I'm yours." He nearly drops you at the declaration, the light inside him overflowing his chest and spilling into his limbs. It takes everything in him to finish the short journey to his room, to soldier on because the two of you need to talk---

 

\----even if it nearly undoes him not to slam your back into the wall and steal the words into his own mouth, see if they taste as sweet as they sound. 


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this is good. I really, really tried y'all. All mistakes are mine, as per usual. I will reply to your messages tomorrow, pinky promise. I've been fighting a migraine all day but really wanted to get this out for y'all. I'm about to go lay down in the dark and try to sleep lmao. Warnings: filthy talking slightly dominant Bucky, soft!Bucky, you should probably have a towel (maybe? Idk maybe it's not as good as I hope it is 🤣) about 1700 words

Bucky kicked the door shut with his foot before lowering you to your feet gently. He pushed back a lock of hair with a bashful smile. "I gotta shower." He bit his bottom lip nervously. 

 

"I'll be here." You promised. "I _am_ sorry Bucky. I'll explain when you're finished." 

 

He gave a nod, stole a kiss from the corner of your lips and slipped into the bathroom. The door was left cracked open, not enough to see into the bathroom. Not that you would have peeked. On purpose. 

 

With him in the shower you were left alone in his bedroom. It was done in grays and navy blue; king sized bed, long dresser and a small desk with papers scattered over the top. Next to the bed was a small nightstand with two pictures on it in a single frame; the left a black and white of him and Stevie before the war. 

 

The right was more recent, the pair of them on a sofa with a beer each. They were caught mid laugh, Steve's hand over Bucky's chest. Bucky's eyes were crinkled at the corners, eyes shining brightly. 

 

Behind you the bathroom door clicked shut and you turned to face Bucky. As soon as you did it was like the air had been punched from your lungs. He was in a tight black tshirt that was so tight it left _nothing_ to the imagination and low slung black sweats. His hair was damp, water droplets clung to the ends like tiny diamonds. 

 

He gave a soft, mischievous smile in return. Bastard. "You said you wanted to explain." He prompted you gently.

 

Your cheeks burned, hand dipping into your pocket to pull out the flash drive tucked there and held it out to him. 

 

"I realized you were right, about Damon. This is everything I have--family, known contacts, properties. All of it. Just...promise me you'll come back to me?" 

 

Bucky stepped closer, long fingers slipping through yours to pluck the flash drive from your grip. His eyes stayed on yours as he tossed it lightly onto the desk. It skittered softly over the papers atop it before coming to a stop in the center. 

 

"I'm gonna come back to you. I swear it." There was a deep, rough edge to his voice. Something distinctly intimate and raw. It sent warmth pooling low into your belly, cheeks flushing once more as he took another step closer. 

 

So close that his chest nearly brushed yours with every exhale. "Now tell me again." He demanded, eyes dropping to your lips. You didn't need to ask him what he meant, heat rushing through you're entire body.

 

You'd never felt more exposed or more aroused by such a simple request. "I'm yours." 

 

His flesh hand slipped to the back of your neck to pull you into his chest, mouth descending upon yours roughly. His mouth had barely touched yours before his hand moved, thumb brushing over your bottom lip. He pulled it down, forcing your mouth to open for him with a needy whimper. 

 

Bucky's tongue pushed into your mouth, silver fingers gripping your hip with a possessive but gentle force. Your own hands wound into his hair and around the back of his shirt--what little you could fist of the tight fabric. 

 

He groaned, mouth abandoning yours to release a gasp as you pulled his hair. 

 

You took advantage, lips eagerly moving over his jaw and down the taut line of his throat. He cussed when your teeth grazed over his pulse point, a harsh breath sucked into his lungs as your hands slipped up the front of his shirt to feel the hard planes of his abs. 

 

"We don't--" He choked back another sound as your nails raked down the taut muscle of his chest. "We don't have to do anything, doll. Just missed you." He confessed in a near whine. "Had to kiss you." 

 

You hummed, giving his shoulder a nip. "I know, Bucky. But I want to. I want to make you feel good. Please?" 

 

He shuddered at your pleas, teeth grazing his bottom lip before he could reply. "S'long as you're sure, sweetheart." 

 

It was startling, how easily he had accepted you back with open arms--especially given it had been three weeks with no contact. And fuck, you had missed him too. It had been hard for you, so you could only imagine what he might have felt like.  

 

He let you peel off his shirt and guide him back to his bed and onto his back. You straddled his hips, mouth instantly starting a trail of kisses over his chest. 

 

"Are you still mine?" You murmured against his chest, kissing the line of scars down his left side tenderly. 

 

"Yeah, I am. M'yours." His hands fisted the sheets on either side of his body when your kisses reached the vee of his hips, nipping and soothing the stings with soft swipes of your tongue. 

 

You cupped the hard line of his cock through his sweats, rubbing as you kicked off your mismatched shoes, only parting to strip your hoodie off impatiently. Tugging the band of his sweats, he arched his hips to help you slip them down and off. 

 

It left him bare before you--thick cock already leaking pearly beads of precum. You blew a stream of cool air over the tip before dipping low to kiss his thighs. 

 

Bucky groaned brokenly, breaths ragged as he fisted the sheets beneath him tighter in an effort to remain still. 

 

His cock was large; long and thick and you weren't even sure it _would_ fit in your mouth, but you were desperate to try. You knew the effort would be more than worth it when he damn near growled as you kissed up his length to take the tip into your mouth. 

 

Still, his hands remained fisted into the sheets as you worked him into your mouth inch by inch until he was buried completely in your throat. As you began to draw up his flesh hand slipped into your hair with a soft tug.

 

"Slow," he begged huskily. "Fuck, gotta go slow for me honey. Your mouth feels so good 'round my cock." 

 

Your entire body warmed at his praise, Bucky guiding the pace as he pulled you up slowly. You trusted him not to choke you, or be too rough. 

 

When he grew accustomed to the pace he loosened his grip, fingertips massaging your scalp softly as you sped up the pace. 

 

You slipped your fingers around the base, jerking him off in time with your mouth as you moved to straddle his thigh--desperate for some friction against the building pressure low in your belly. 

 

Hearing Bucky gasp and moan, his hips twitching needfully was nearly enough to tip you over the edge. As he neared closer to his own orgasm your hips rocked against the hard muscle of his thigh, the thin layer of your pajama bottoms doing little (thankfully) to dull the sensation. 

 

Bucky felt you grind down against his thigh, his mouth dropping open with his deepest moan yet. "Fuck, are you...? Oh shit. That's it, baby. Make yourself cum on my thigh." He tightened the muscles in his thigh, gripping your hips to help you grind down harder, faster. 

 

"Want you to cum with that pretty fuckin mouth around my cock." He gasped, the filthy words forcing you to moan around his cock. "You like that, doll? Fuck, you're _soaked_. Just from sucking my cock?" 

 

Another moan around his twitching cock, tingling starting in the base of your spine and fizzing upwards as your orgasm neared. Bucky choked for breath, his eyes screwing shut for a moment. "Oh, _god_ , I'm gonna cu-cum." He stuttered, clearing holding off as best he could.

 

You let your hand fall away and took him into your throat once more, humming deeply around the base of his cock. His mouth dropped open with a hoarse shout of your name as he spilled into the back of your throat. 

 

As soon as you'd swallowed it all he pulled your mouth off his cock and higher up on his thigh. One hand stayed tangled in your hair, the other slipping up your shirt to palm your breast roughly. 

 

The other was bitten through the fabric of your shirt with a deep, possessive growl. "C'mon baby, cum for me." The simple command had you spiraling over the edge in a burst of light, thighs shivering and clenching onto his as it shuddered through you. 

 

Before you could even catch your breath fully his mouth was on yours in a deep, soft kiss. "Stay," he murmured between kisses. "I wanna hold my girl." His lips twitched into a smile against yours. 

 

He loved saying the words as much as he loved seeing the flush in your cheeks when he said them. "Well, seeing as I'm not sure I can walk.." you joked, trying not to call attention to the fact that it was a big deal--a huge step that somehow seemed more intimate, more vulnerable, than anything else you'd done. 

 

Bucky's smile was brighter than the one in the photo on his nightstand, though he kept his own voice as casual as he could to match yours. "I'll even bring you breakfast in bed." His forehead dropped to yours in a soft nuzzle. Then, more seriously, quieter--

 

"No more running?" 

 

You shook your head, returning his affectionate nuzzle. "No more running. I'm yours." 

 

With your assurance the two of you cleaned yourselves up a bit before settling back onto his bed, your back to his chest and his arm around your middle. 

 

"Pancakes?" You asked through a yawn. 

 

His laugh scattered over the back of your neck. "Doll, you can have whatever you want. I'll make you the best damn pancakes you ever had." 

 

You giggled breathily, shoulders shaking against his chest. Once you'd settled down you borrowed deeper into his pillow with a happy, content, sigh, exhaustion sweeping over you like a heavy blanket. 

 

"Sweet dreams, James." 

 

You were asleep before you could even hear him echo the words back to you, feeling peaceful enough to sleep deeply for the first time in weeks. 


	22. Chapter 22

Something tickled along your shoulder. Sleepily you swatted at it, groaning as you burrowed further into the covers. A deep chuckle sounded behind you, the tickling feeling skating over the back of your shoulder once more and leading into a trail up the column of your throat. 

 

"I'm sleeping," you whined, squirming away from the tickling sensation of soft kisses and rough stubble. 

 

Bucky chuckled again. "And I'm kissing you." He replied, slipping an arm around your waist to drag you back into the warmth of his body. 

 

"Kissing is interrupting my sleeping." You pouted. Truth be told, though, your tummy was doing somersaults and your body was happily tingling down to the tips of your toes. 

 

It had been a long time since you'd woken up with someone, and you'd missed it more than you realized. For the first time in ages you slept well and woke feeling refreshed. There was no bitter, stewing anger, no anxiety about what the day might bring as soon as you toed out of bed, and no curtain of melancholy to weigh your overtired body down further.

 

There was only deep, low warmth that seeped through your whole body like you had bathed in a pool of golden sun, on a bed made of the softest material on earth.

 

Bucky huffed another laugh, nudging you onto your stomach to kiss a trail down your clothed spine. The heat of him, even through your clothes, was electric, and your back arched into his touch--drawn to it like a moth to flame. 

 

"Doll," he bit his lip and paused, now straddling your waist as he kissed back up your spine.  

 

You hummed to let him know you'd heard him and hadn't fallen back under the heavy veil of sleep. He sounded a little nervous. 

 

"I made French toast for you..." he cleared his throat gently. "And Steve is here. He'd like to meet you, if that's all right. Promised he would leave if it wasn't." 

 

Bucky spoke softly, tenderly, and he sounded a bit nervous. It didn't take you long to suss out that Bucky wasn't just saying that Steve wanted to meet you. He was asking you, without asking you outright. And if the hesitation in his asking was any indication, he wanted you to meet him quite a lot. Though you knew he would respect it if you said no. 

 

Your cheeks flamed brightly. "You want me to meet America's golden boy, the paragon of virtue and the caricature of chastity without a bra on?" Not to mention he was Bucky's _best_ friend, and the most important person in his life. If he didn't like you it could only spell disaster for you and Bucky. 

 

Bucky tipped his head back to laugh softly for a moment. "Sweetheart, I assure you that Stevie isn't even remotely as golden as he seems. And definitely not as chaste. 'Sides, that punk wouldn't dare look at my woman's chest. Knows I would punch him into the next millennium, and I doubt he would ever catch up with the times then." 

 

You couldn't help but smile at that, the butterflies in your stomach doubling and then tripling with adoration. "I'll come meet him. But only because I don't want my breakfast to get cold," you teased, rolling back over to face him. 

 

It was worth it to see his soft, warm smile as he slipped back onto the floor and offered you his hand. "And maybe because I'm kinda fond of you," you added before slipping your hand into his. 

 

Bucky gave your hand a squeeze. "Thank you. I'll be with you the whole time, hm?" 

 

Thankfully the walk to his kitchen wasn't a long one, though you hadn't noticed it last night either. Bucky had a way of making you forget about everything else, of making your worries slough off with ease. Before he pulled you into the kitchen he stole a sweet kiss and another squeeze of your hand for comfort.

 

He really was stupidly thoughtful. 

 

Steve was sat at the small kitchen island, sipping from a steaming cup of coffee. As soon as he saw you his eyes lit up like the fourth of July, his knee bouncing as if he was stopping himself from getting up. It was clear he was excited, and the view reminded you of a mother meeting her son's girlfriend for the first time. 

 

"Hello, you must be Y/N." Despite his jittery appearance his voice was calm and even, soothing even. 

 

"I am. It's good to meet you, Captain Rogers." You held out your free hand for him to shake. 

 

"Please, call me Steve. It's good to finally meet you as well." 

 

After a moment you settled into the seat next to Steve with a little encouragement from Bucky, who kissed your temple after you were seated. "Coffee or juice, doll?" 

 

You mulled it over for a minute. "Juice, please." 

 

He gave you a grin, another squeeze of your hand, before padding over to the fridge. "Whipped cream or syrup?" 

 

Another beat. "Both?" 

 

His grin widened. "Perfect choice and Steve, better not here a word about how hard we'll have to train to work it off. I can still kick your ass, you know." 

 

Steve rolled his eyes. "It doesn't count if I don't fight back, jerk." He huffed out a small laugh before turning to you to whisper conspiratorially. 

 

"You don't have to be nervous. I can tell you're good for him. So no worries on me giving the friend speech." 

 

It was remarkable, how much the simple assurance put you at ease. It dashed right through the anxiety that had been bubbling up since Bucky told you he was here. The assurance also boosted your confidence enough to joke. 

 

"Really?" You pouted. "And here I was looking forward to being threatened by Captain America if I hurt his bestie. Sure you don't wanna give it a whirl?" 

 

Steve shook his head, finally turning to pile french toast from the heaping serving plate onto a smaller one. He passed the plate to you with a charming smile. "Not a chance. I haven't seen him this happy in a long time, and something tells me you're just as happy with him. That's enough for me." 

 

Those words were sweeter than anything on the menu for breakfast. Bucky rejoined you both with a smile, "Juice, whipped cream and syrup for my best girl," he declared goofily, plopping down across from you and Steve with a wink. He and Steve both pretended not to notice that you'd grown a little misty eyed, though Bucky settled a hand upon your knee as you all tucked in. 

 

Somewhere along the way the awkwardness melted away to a distant memory, its silence filled in by the pleasant chatter of friends and the sweet tang of too much sugar. 

 

In that hum of blissful chatter, forks clinking softly against plates, Bucky leaned in to murmur quietly into your ear. 

 

"He's right, you know. You make me happy." 

 

It took everything in you not to squeal happily at the simple, easy confession. You couldn't remember the last time a morning had felt so blissfully perfect.

 

"You make me happy, too, James." 


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not super sure about this chapter. I hope y'all like it

The flash drive was given to Steve to analyze and find potential ways to get to Damon while minimizing the potential casualties of civilians. Once he left you and Bucky fell back into a quiet morning bliss. You showered and changed into one of his shirts---a black Henley and a pair of his boxers. 

 

It all felt wonderfully domestic and peaceful, and it stayed that way until nearly lunchtime. While you ordered pizza he flipped through the TV for a movie to watch, content to spend the day being lazy and enjoying each other's company while you could. 

 

A knock came to the door to interrupt the quiet, Bucky going to answer it while you were on the phone. 

 

"Hey, arrowhead, what's--?" 

 

As soon as the words left his mouth there was a smacking sound of flesh on flesh and he stumbled back in surprise. Blood droplets beaded over his bottom lip, his tongue swiping out to clear it. 

 

Clint's face was set hard in stone, rage seeping through his pores. "Where the fuck is she?!"

 

He came at him again, tackling Bucky to the floor before he could even begin to answer. His fist smacked into the side of his face again and again. 

 

Bucky pushed him off and stood quickly, shoving hair back from his eyes. "Clint, just listen to me buddy--"

 

He charged at him again, tackling him onto the coffee table. It splintered and shattered beneath their combined weight. 

 

That's how you found them--Clint atop Bucky, driving his fists into his face and body again and again at lightning speed. Bucky's arms were at his sides, not even trying to defend himself or shove him off. 

 

You rushed over to the pair and grabbed at Clint's arm to stop the assault. "Clint, hey, stop! Stop!" 

 

He finally whipped around to face you, his eyes hard with rage and with betrayal. "What did he do to you?" He growled, body shaking with adrenaline. "I trusted him to train you and he took advantage!" 

 

His teeth were bared, veins pulsing in the side of his neck. Fist covered in blood from hitting Bucky. You swallowed hard under his intense gaze, guilt bubbling up in your stomach. You had forgotten about Clint. 

 

"No, he didn't!" You insisted, still trying to drag him off Bucky. 

 

"He did! You're in his shirt! You can't tell me he didn't take advantage!" 

 

You tugged at him again and again while trying to explain. "I slept here but nothing happened!" 

 

Clint moved to hit him again. Panic and anxiety reared up within you, making you desperate. 

 

"I'm in love with him!" 

 

You screamed the words and, finally, Clint fell back with his chest heaving and eyes still wild with unbridled emotion. 

 

"You---what?"

 

You ignored him, offering Bucky a hand to help him up. His blue eyes were blown wide, lips parted in surprise and blood covering his face. The sight of it made your stomach turn.  

 

Swallowing hard around the hammering of your heart and the rising urge to run, you met Clint's eyes once more. "You heard me. I was gonna tell you. I swear I was. I just..." 

 

Clint shook his head and took a step back. "I just...I need some time, kid." His eyes darted back and forth between you and a still silent Bucky, an indescribable emotion on his face. 

 

You wanted to apologize, to make things right, but you knew he needed time to process it all--the idea of you and Bucky together, and him not knowing a thing about it. 

 

He said nothing more until he was at the door, rigid back to you and Bucky. "Barnes, if you break her heart I'm gonna do a whole lot worse." 

 

"Understood." 

 

The door clicked shut silently, the sound kicking you into gear once more. You darted into the bathroom to retrieve the first aid kit. Once you had it you guided Bucky onto a stool and pushed him to sit down. 

 

He didn't speak until you had dabbed alcohol onto a cotton ball and were dotting it around the cut through his eyebrow. There was another small split on his lip, and bruises already marring his perfect cheek. 

 

"Baby, you don't have to do this---you don't have to clean my blood." He clarified, desperate to make sure you knew. Because you had cleaned up after Damon. He wouldn't make you do the same for him. 

 

"I want to." You squeaked, and you did. But your cheeks were burning with the confession, the words you had shouted. Words you had not told Bucky yet. 

 

His Adam's apple bobbed with a hard swallow. "Did you mean it?" 

 

You settled a butterfly bandage over the clean cut with shaking hands. "I'm not in the habit of saying things I don't mean, James." 

 

His lips twitched softly into a tender smile. "I love you too, you know." 

 

His fingers curled around your wrist, your eyes finding his with the gentle action. "And you don't have to be scared, darlin. Ain't lettin' you go that easy." 

 

Your teeth scraped over your bottom lip. "Clint attacked you, and here you are grinning like a fool." You chastised weakly.

 

His grin broadened. "My girl loves me. So trust me when I say it doesn't hurt. And I probably deserved it. I shoulda told him." 

 

Shaking your head you sighed and wiped away the last of the blood. "No, but I should have. And I should have told you first." 

 

Bucky grinned even wider if at all possible. You weren't sure how he was so calm, after such a brief and bountiful dose of chaos. And being hit several times. His table in shambles. 

 

He laughed softly. "You worry enough for the two of us, sweetheart. Clint will come around. We'll get rid of Damon, and then it'll just be you and me." 

 

You couldn't help but smile softly at that. "You promise? Cos if you break my heart, Clint won't be the one to worry about."

 

He smirked at that. "Yeah? Well, let me teach you how to dispose of a body then. Cos if I break your heart I'll let you take me out." 

 

Your eyes narrowed. "You're impossibly certain this will all turn out okay. How can you be sure?"

 

A shoulder lifted into a shrug. "Because I know there's nothing that could keep me from you, not unless you're the one sending me away." 

 

A sigh left your lips. "I won't. I'm kind of attached to you now." 

 

He looked even cheekier at that. "I know. You love me." 

 

Your cheeks flamed. "Yeah, what's it to you?" 

 

He pulled you into his chest with a full, rich laugh. "It's everything to me." 

 

As light as Bucky made you feel with so few words you were still worried. Worried Clint would never forgive you for keeping him in the dark. Worried Bucky would not defeat Damon. That you would lose him. 

 

But you had this---right here, right now. A moment so soft you wanted to wrap it up and lock it away so nothing could ever touch it. Bucky loved you and you loved him. And you would hold onto it for as long as you could. 


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this lives up to expectations.

Though you and Bucky didn't discuss it, there was a mutual agreement that you would stay the night with him once more. He didn't ask you to leave and you didn't try to go. 

 

The shift in dynamic wasn't too obvious until it was time to crawl into bed with him. He held you with your back to his chest, nose nuzzled into your throat. A storm was rumbling outside, flashes of light and soft rumbles of thunder did little to quell the sudden rush within you. 

 

You felt restless and tingly, your nerves alight with need. The more you laid next to him the quicker your heart beat and the more the soft scratch of his stubble made you shiver. 

 

"Bucky?" You whispered, afraid he had fallen asleep already.

 

"Yeah, doll?" His voice was thick with sleep, deeper than normal and thick with that Brooklyn accent that drove you crazy. 

 

Shyness stole the words from your lips, blush blossoming hotly over your cheeks. 

 

"Sweetheart?" He prodded, arm tightening around your middle in concern. 

 

"I...I wanna ask you something." You forced the words out on a shaky breath. 

 

Bucky squeezed your hip reflexively. "You can ask me anything." 

 

You swallowed around the sudden dryness of your throat, teeth scraping over your bottom lip before rolling over to face him. 

 

The moon provided enough light for you to make out the soft, fluffy clouds of gray blue that made up his eyes, could see the sharp outline of his jaw and the hairpin curve of his perfect mouth. 

 

Your heart lurched in your chest, the intensity of his gaze too much with as worked up as you suddenly felt. "Make love to me?" 

 

The words were barely a whisper, the pounding of your heart drowning out the sound. But it did nothing to mute the audible hitch in his breath or the stiffness of his body. His fingers twitched against your hip. 

 

"Y/N, look at me." His fingers moved to your chin, nudging your head up until you were forced to meet his eyes. "Are you sure? I'm content just to lay here, darlin'. You're not obligated to do anything you're not ready for. I'm in no hurry." 

 

Warmth spilled into your chest and down into your stomach. "I know. I want to. You drive me crazy, James. Have since I met you and..." you took a deep breath. "I trust you." 

 

His eyes fluttered shut with a sigh, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. "If you want to stop at any time you just say, okay?" His open mouth brushed hotly over your own, teasing. Your lips trembled, the shiver that rolled through you making your thighs twitch. 

 

It made you hyper aware that you had fallen asleep in only his tshirt and boxers, wrapped in sheets that smelled like him. He waited for your confirmation before stealing your lips in a slow, deep kiss. 

 

Bucky took his time, brushing his lips against yours, nibbling at your bottom lip and sucking it into his mouth audibly. It was a filthy, wet sound that drew a whimper from you. 

 

His tongue slipped past your lips to steal the sound for his own, moving to gently roll you onto your back. 

 

You'd never been kissed so thoroughly, unable to do anything but cling to the back of his shirt and arch helplessly underneath him in an attempt to get even closer. 

 

Achingly slow his mouth dropped to your throat, kissing, licking, sucking and biting until he found the spots that made you keen or writhe, release breathy moans that you had no ability to hold back. 

 

His tongue traced your collarbone as his hands slid up and under his shirt on your body, the dual sensation of warm flesh and cool metal against your hips and up your ribs making you wriggle desperately beneath him. 

 

Your hands tugged impatiently at his shirt until he chuckled softly, leaning back just enough to reach a hand back to grip the neck of his shirt. He dragged it up and off in one easy, fluid movement. 

 

"Patience, doll. I'm gonna make you feel so good." He promised huskily, his fingers rolling over your nipples gently. You felt it right down to your clit as if he'd brushed his tongue over the bundle of nerves, wet arousal gushing softly onto his boxers. 

 

He pinched your nipples as he watched you writhe beneath him, biting back a moan as your hips bucked needfully. 

 

"Feel good, baby?" He sounded almost as wrecked as you felt, his eyes dark with lust. 

 

"So good." You whined, shivering under another wave of pleasure that sent your body twitching and your pussy clenching around nothing. 

 

He pulled on your nipples, a breathless cry from you and your back arched up into his touch. "James, please..." you shuddered, your walls fluttering once more around nothing. 

 

"You close, sweetheart?" Bucky teased, rolling your nipples once more under his hands. Your thighs squeezed together, nails pressing hard into his back. If someone had ever told you before that cumming from this alone was possible, you'd have laughed. 

 

But under Bucky's expert touch you were already close, so close, and he had hardly touched you at all. "Yeah," you gasped, half embarrassed to admit such a needy, wanton thing. 

 

Bucky pushed his shirt up over your breasts at last and bent low, breathing hot air over the sensitive peak of one nipple. "Then cum for me." He commanded before his scalding mouth latched onto your nipple and bit down, tongue flicking and swirling over the bud as his thumb brushed back and forth over the other. 

 

A choked, guttural sound left your mouth as pleasure shot through you. Your nails clawed down his back, the other fisting tightly into his hair and tugging. He sucked your nipple with a deep groan and you were done for, helplessly whimpering breathlessly as your pussy fluttered once more and soaked your underwear. 

 

His hand slipped between your legs to brush your clit over his boxers, sending you immediately tumbling over the edge again with a stuttered gasp of his name. 

 

Bucky brought you down slowly, drawing out the pleasure without overstimulating you. When you'd settled enough you found him grinning crookedly, smugly. 

 

He'd earned the look, honestly, but you still wanted more of him. 

 

No words were needed as you removed the final layers of your clothing and Bucky settled himself between your thighs. His fingers brushed tenderly over your cheek before he stole a chaste kiss. 

 

"I love you." 

 

Your heart skipped a beat. "I love you too, James." 

 

As soon as you had started to say his name he pushed the tip of his thick cock into you, so his name came out a broken and satisfied gasp. 

 

"God, the sounds you make." He growled, pushing in a little farther. "Fuck, honey, you're tight." 

 

You shook your head mindlessly, "You're huge." You argued, wrapping your legs tightly around his hips. 

 

"I can take it. Please, don't stop." 

 

Bucky cussed in what sounded like Russian but slowly pushed his hips forward until his cock was buried to the hilt within you. It had been so, so long and Bucky was huge--you felt fuller than ever, warm with the stretch of his cock inside your tight pussy. 

 

He trembled above you, keeping still for both of your sakes. Until finally you could take it no longer and arched your hips against him. 

 

His movements were kept slow and deep, his hips flexing just right to hit every spot inside of you. Including ones you weren't aware existed. You could feel the hard ridges of his cock, the thick vein on the underside brushing against your walls. 

 

And then his flesh hand settled over your lower belly and pressed down as if he were trying to feel his own cock from the outside. 

 

It was unlike anything you had ever felt before, the intensity suddenly tenfold and your heart beat frantically as your temperature spiked as your orgasm rushed up to meet you.

 

"O-oh, James. Just like that. Oh God, please don't stop." 

 

The room was filled with the wet, obscene sounds of him fucking you and your breathless gasps. 

 

"I'm right there with you. I got you, doll. Cum for me. C'mon, cum on my cock." 

 

He let his desperation bleed into the words, pleading with you to cum for him. Hearing him so wrecked and so vulnerable sent you soaring over the edge with force.

 

Your thighs trembled around his hips, cunt clenching so hard it nearly forced his cock out as you squirted around his still thrusting cock. It seemed never ending, eyes rolling back into your head as your arousal leaked down your thighs and onto the sheets beneath you. With your nails in his back you were certain that you had broken skin, but Bucky didn't seem to notice or care. 

 

His mouth dropped to your neck with a broken, deep moan as he buried his cock as deeply into you as he could. He pulsed inside of you, hips still rolling to drag out the pleasure for you both. 

 

Bucky kept his weight off you as he bent to give you a soft kiss. Your body was still shivering beneath his, twitching with involuntary aftershocks from the most intense orgasm of your life. 

 

Endorphins rushed through you in droves, a giddy giggle bubbling up from your chest. "I can't feel my legs. I'm pretty sure you might be the reason for the phrase 'fucked stupid.'" You giggled breathlessly. 

 

Bucky blushed under the praise. "Me? You almost had me cummin' in my pants again like a goddamn teenager." 

 

He stole another kiss before slipping away to pad into the bathroom. He returned with a wet cloth and cleaned you tenderly before slipping back into bed beside you. Immediately he pulled you into his arms and kissed you again, rubbing your nose with his own in a playful eskimo kiss. 

 

Without a sound he tucked your head into his chest, pressed another kiss to your forehead and pushed his hand into your hair to comb through it and tenderly massage your scalp. 

 

Another rush of affection warmed you all over. Not only had he given you the most incredible sex of your life, but here he was holding you and playing with your hair and you hadn't even needed to ask. 

 

Before you knew it the rhythmic movements of his hand had lulled you into a peaceful, deep, slumber. 


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this lives up to expectations.

Though you and Bucky didn't discuss it, there was a mutual agreement that you would stay the night with him once more. He didn't ask you to leave and you didn't try to go. 

 

The shift in dynamic wasn't too obvious until it was time to crawl into bed with him. He held you with your back to his chest, nose nuzzled into your throat. A storm was rumbling outside, flashes of light and soft rumbles of thunder did little to quell the sudden rush within you. 

 

You felt restless and tingly, your nerves alight with need. The more you laid next to him the quicker your heart beat and the more the soft scratch of his stubble made you shiver. 

 

"Bucky?" You whispered, afraid he had fallen asleep already.

 

"Yeah, doll?" His voice was thick with sleep, deeper than normal and thick with that Brooklyn accent that drove you crazy. 

 

Shyness stole the words from your lips, blush blossoming hotly over your cheeks. 

 

"Sweetheart?" He prodded, arm tightening around your middle in concern. 

 

"I...I wanna ask you something." You forced the words out on a shaky breath. 

 

Bucky squeezed your hip reflexively. "You can ask me anything." 

 

You swallowed around the sudden dryness of your throat, teeth scraping over your bottom lip before rolling over to face him. 

 

The moon provided enough light for you to make out the soft, fluffy clouds of gray blue that made up his eyes, could see the sharp outline of his jaw and the hairpin curve of his perfect mouth. 

 

Your heart lurched in your chest, the intensity of his gaze too much with as worked up as you suddenly felt. "Make love to me?" 

 

The words were barely a whisper, the pounding of your heart drowning out the sound. But it did nothing to mute the audible hitch in his breath or the stiffness of his body. His fingers twitched against your hip. 

 

"Y/N, look at me." His fingers moved to your chin, nudging your head up until you were forced to meet his eyes. "Are you sure? I'm content just to lay here, darlin'. You're not obligated to do anything you're not ready for. I'm in no hurry." 

 

Warmth spilled into your chest and down into your stomach. "I know. I want to. You drive me crazy, James. Have since I met you and..." you took a deep breath. "I trust you." 

 

His eyes fluttered shut with a sigh, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. "If you want to stop at any time you just say, okay?" His open mouth brushed hotly over your own, teasing. Your lips trembled, the shiver that rolled through you making your thighs twitch. 

 

It made you hyper aware that you had fallen asleep in only his tshirt and boxers, wrapped in sheets that smelled like him. He waited for your confirmation before stealing your lips in a slow, deep kiss. 

 

Bucky took his time, brushing his lips against yours, nibbling at your bottom lip and sucking it into his mouth audibly. It was a filthy, wet sound that drew a whimper from you. 

 

His tongue slipped past your lips to steal the sound for his own, moving to gently roll you onto your back. 

 

You'd never been kissed so thoroughly, unable to do anything but cling to the back of his shirt and arch helplessly underneath him in an attempt to get even closer. 

 

Achingly slow his mouth dropped to your throat, kissing, licking, sucking and biting until he found the spots that made you keen or writhe, release breathy moans that you had no ability to hold back. 

 

His tongue traced your collarbone as his hands slid up and under his shirt on your body, the dual sensation of warm flesh and cool metal against your hips and up your ribs making you wriggle desperately beneath him. 

 

Your hands tugged impatiently at his shirt until he chuckled softly, leaning back just enough to reach a hand back to grip the neck of his shirt. He dragged it up and off in one easy, fluid movement. 

 

"Patience, doll. I'm gonna make you feel so good." He promised huskily, his fingers rolling over your nipples gently. You felt it right down to your clit as if he'd brushed his tongue over the bundle of nerves, wet arousal gushing softly onto his boxers. 

 

He pinched your nipples as he watched you writhe beneath him, biting back a moan as your hips bucked needfully. 

 

"Feel good, baby?" He sounded almost as wrecked as you felt, his eyes dark with lust. 

 

"So good." You whined, shivering under another wave of pleasure that sent your body twitching and your pussy clenching around nothing. 

 

He pulled on your nipples, a breathless cry from you and your back arched up into his touch. "James, please..." you shuddered, your walls fluttering once more around nothing. 

 

"You close, sweetheart?" Bucky teased, rolling your nipples once more under his hands. Your thighs squeezed together, nails pressing hard into his back. If someone had ever told you before that cumming from this alone was possible, you'd have laughed. 

 

But under Bucky's expert touch you were already close, so close, and he had hardly touched you at all. "Yeah," you gasped, half embarrassed to admit such a needy, wanton thing. 

 

Bucky pushed his shirt up over your breasts at last and bent low, breathing hot air over the sensitive peak of one nipple. "Then cum for me." He commanded before his scalding mouth latched onto your nipple and bit down, tongue flicking and swirling over the bud as his thumb brushed back and forth over the other. 

 

A choked, guttural sound left your mouth as pleasure shot through you. Your nails clawed down his back, the other fisting tightly into his hair and tugging. He sucked your nipple with a deep groan and you were done for, helplessly whimpering breathlessly as your pussy fluttered once more and soaked your underwear. 

 

His hand slipped between your legs to brush your clit over his boxers, sending you immediately tumbling over the edge again with a stuttered gasp of his name. 

 

Bucky brought you down slowly, drawing out the pleasure without overstimulating you. When you'd settled enough you found him grinning crookedly, smugly. 

 

He'd earned the look, honestly, but you still wanted more of him. 

 

No words were needed as you removed the final layers of your clothing and Bucky settled himself between your thighs. His fingers brushed tenderly over your cheek before he stole a chaste kiss. 

 

"I love you." 

 

Your heart skipped a beat. "I love you too, James." 

 

As soon as you had started to say his name he pushed the tip of his thick cock into you, so his name came out a broken and satisfied gasp. 

 

"God, the sounds you make." He growled, pushing in a little farther. "Fuck, honey, you're tight." 

 

You shook your head mindlessly, "You're huge." You argued, wrapping your legs tightly around his hips. 

 

"I can take it. Please, don't stop." 

 

Bucky cussed in what sounded like Russian but slowly pushed his hips forward until his cock was buried to the hilt within you. It had been so, so long and Bucky was huge--you felt fuller than ever, warm with the stretch of his cock inside your tight pussy. 

 

He trembled above you, keeping still for both of your sakes. Until finally you could take it no longer and arched your hips against him. 

 

His movements were kept slow and deep, his hips flexing just right to hit every spot inside of you. Including ones you weren't aware existed. You could feel the hard ridges of his cock, the thick vein on the underside brushing against your walls. 

 

And then his flesh hand settled over your lower belly and pressed down as if he were trying to feel his own cock from the outside. 

 

It was unlike anything you had ever felt before, the intensity suddenly tenfold and your heart beat frantically as your temperature spiked as your orgasm rushed up to meet you.

 

"O-oh, James. Just like that. Oh God, please don't stop." 

 

The room was filled with the wet, obscene sounds of him fucking you and your breathless gasps. 

 

"I'm right there with you. I got you, doll. Cum for me. C'mon, cum on my cock." 

 

He let his desperation bleed into the words, pleading with you to cum for him. Hearing him so wrecked and so vulnerable sent you soaring over the edge with force.

 

Your thighs trembled around his hips, cunt clenching so hard it nearly forced his cock out as you squirted around his still thrusting cock. It seemed never ending, eyes rolling back into your head as your arousal leaked down your thighs and onto the sheets beneath you. With your nails in his back you were certain that you had broken skin, but Bucky didn't seem to notice or care. 

 

His mouth dropped to your neck with a broken, deep moan as he buried his cock as deeply into you as he could. He pulsed inside of you, hips still rolling to drag out the pleasure for you both. 

 

Bucky kept his weight off you as he bent to give you a soft kiss. Your body was still shivering beneath his, twitching with involuntary aftershocks from the most intense orgasm of your life. 

 

Endorphins rushed through you in droves, a giddy giggle bubbling up from your chest. "I can't feel my legs. I'm pretty sure you might be the reason for the phrase 'fucked stupid.'" You giggled breathlessly. 

 

Bucky blushed under the praise. "Me? You almost had me cummin' in my pants again like a goddamn teenager." 

 

He stole another kiss before slipping away to pad into the bathroom. He returned with a wet cloth and cleaned you tenderly before slipping back into bed beside you. Immediately he pulled you into his arms and kissed you again, rubbing your nose with his own in a playful eskimo kiss. 

 

Without a sound he tucked your head into his chest, pressed another kiss to your forehead and pushed his hand into your hair to comb through it and tenderly massage your scalp. 

 

Another rush of affection warmed you all over. Not only had he given you the most incredible sex of your life, but here he was holding you and playing with your hair and you hadn't even needed to ask. 

 

Before you knew it the rhythmic movements of his hand had lulled you into a peaceful, deep, slumber. 


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been forever since I updated this, and I forgot some details of this story. So maybe consider this a rough draft potentially? I haven't read it over so it may not even make sense. If I could stick with one tense too it would be a goddamn miracle. Apologies for the wait, and if this is trash.

Once Steve had the flash drive time seemed to slow to a crawl, thick and hazy. Syrupy like molasses. But with an undercurrent of nerves you couldn't shake. Bucky, Steve and Tony poured over the contents again and again to learn as much as they could. 

 

Stark used his tech to analyze every plan they had thought of this far, the main goal being to keep civilian casualties to an absolute minimum. The second being to take out Damon. 

 

Every day he went to meet with Steve and, every day he returned with no solid plan. Either the risk to civilian life was too high, or the chance of losing Damon too great. 

 

Today was no different. He huffed a frustrated sigh as he settled beside you on the couch in the commonroom, scrubbing a hand over his face. 

 

"You'll figure it out." You promised gently, attempting to reassure yourself as well. 

 

Bucky nodded. "I know. I just don't have the right plan yet." 

 

"I think I might." 

 

The pair of you jump slightly at the voice that comes from behind you. One you haven't heard since giving Steve the flash drive. Clint. 

 

You whip your head around so fast you nearly give yourself whiplash, eyes wide on the archer. He looks sheepish, head down and hands tucked into his pockets. 

 

He cleared his throat before meeting your gaze. "I'm sorry." And then to Bucky. "To both of you. I shouldn't have hit you." 

 

Bucky is the first to speak, standing smoothly to offer his hand to Clint. "I probably had it coming." 

 

Clint takes his hand with a slack jaw and wide eyes. His eyes flit to you again hopefully. 

 

You shrug a shoulder. "You're always gonna be my brother." The hug that follows is strong and warm, thankful and familiar. It helps to settle the nerves that have been running rampant. 

 

He clears his throat again when you part. There's only a beat of awkward silence before Bucky speaks up again. 

 

"You said you had a plan? We could use all the help we can get."

 

Clint is eager to reply. "Yeah. The same way we took down Shield." Both you and Bucky share a look of confusion before Clint taps what looks like a watch face on his wrist. The effect is instant, his face gone and replaced by a sterner looking one--low brows, thin lips and a menacing and jagged scar across his left cheek. 

 

You squeak in surprise, flinching back from the unfamiliar face. Bucky only looks more confused, his arms crossing over his chest.

 

"Call me thick, but I don't see what changing our faces would do to help? We still have the civilian casualties to think of. I mean, other than saving the Avengers from some seriously bad press for getting dozens or hundreds killed." 

 

Clint wriggles a little, even more eager now. "But it does. It changes everything. With these we could infiltrate him without him knowing a thing. We send Nat and Wanda in undercover, with the women being sold. Damon takes them all to his property on the water and passes them off to a ship, never to be seen again."

 

Bucky looks still more confused, and a little frustrated by that fact. Clint doesn't stop, however. 

 

"So we also send Sam in undercover, looking like the usual driver of the ship. I checked the collecting ship--there's four guards. Sam boards the ship, neutralizes the guards and takes the place of the driver. Bam, our ship." 

 

Finally Bucky's eyes light up, bright with recognition and hope. "The girls get loaded onto our ship, safe and sound. We take out Damon once the ship pulls away." 

 

His brows pinch together again. "But what about you, me and Steve? We gonna drop into the warehouse? Damon's got good security, and we've gotta assume he's prepared to escape from there." 

 

Clint taps his wrist again, finally wearing his own face again. "Not if we're already in the room. It would be easy enough to take out a few members of his entourage, take their place. Take him out."

 

Bucky's mouth pulls into a soft frown. "That's a lot of moving parts, Barton. Everything would need to go perfectly. No room for error. Damon could catch on." 

 

Your stomach turns at that, at the idea that it could all go sour at the drop of a hat. The numbers still need to be ran, however, but it is an idea. One Bucky is clearly excited about, even as he works it over in his head.

 

Even as your stomach turns a dark, risky idea fills your head. One just as crazy as the plan Clint has concocted. 

 

"Not if Damon is distracted. We make sure he's too preoccupied to pick up on anything." 

 

Both men shift to face you in shock, as if they'd forgotten you were standing right beside them. "How do you suggest we do that?" 

 

You suck in a deep breath, refusing to meet Bucky's eyes. 

 

"We make him take me. Make him see me as a threat." 

 

Clint's face twists in anger, Bucky's voice sharp as the look on Clint's face. "Absolutely not. He could kill you." 

 

Your eyes refuse to meet his. "He won't. Damon is cruel, vengeful. But he's not about quick satisfaction. Prefers the long game. And he threatened that I could be one of them. Sold off like cattle." 

 

Your swallow is dry and hard. "He would be so preoccupied with his revenge, with giving me what he thinks I deserve---taking him out would be easy." 

 

Bucky and Clint both bark out at once, voices loud and booming over each other. 

 

"There is no way in hell that I'm gonna let--"

 

"---out of your damn mind!" 

 

"Not even remotely trained enough to even consider--"

 

"----find another way. Any other way." 

 

The cacophony of sound is too much and, standing up straighter, you shout over them both. 

 

"Enough!" They stop once more, stunned into silence by your outburst. 

 

"So what? It's perfectly okay for you two to risk your lives, but I can't risk mine for the same cause? Go relay the plan to Stark, Clint. Have him check the probability of success." 

 

Bucky's jaw ticked. "Without you in it. No dice, doll. You promised you would let me handle this." 

 

Finally your eyes find his, his own pleading and panicked. But commanding, too. 

 

"I told you I trusted you to take him out. And I do. Now I need you to trust me when I say it won't work without me. Damon is detail oriented. It's part of his job. There's no way you get into that warehouse without distracting him enough." 

 

Bucky's tongue swept out to wet his lips. "So we find another way to distract him." 

 

But your head is already shaking. "There's nothing else that would compare. Bucky, you know spy stuff--how to kill a man in more ways than I can count, more languages than I could even guess, tactical skills.....I know I don't know any of that, but I know Damon." 

 

The silence that follows is deafening, shock and hurt and anger splashed across Bucky's face and swimming in his too blue gaze. 

 

You tear your eyes from him to meet Clint's eyes again. "Run the damn numbers, Clint." 

 

He finally leaves, eyes darting between you and Bucky quickly before he goes. Once he does Bucky finds his voice again. 

 

"I won't let you do this. I can't. I have to know you're safe!"

 

But you know, as crazy as it all is, that it truly is the only way. Too many moving parts, so much room for error. Risk that, you're sure, would drop to almost nothing with you. And without?

 

"I told you, this is the only way the plan works. You have to trust me." 

 

Bucky swallowed hard. "I can't risk losing you." 

 

"You'll be right there to protect me." You countered. 

 

"What if I'm not quick enough?" 

 

You took a deep breath. "Are you willing to let Damon go, to let him keep selling women into slavery without consequence just to save me?" 

 

Bucky didn't hesitate. "Yes." 

 

But you knew better. "Bucky, James, we both know you could never let it go. Let him go. You know this is the only way. You know it makes sense." 

 

He pulled you into his chest hard, stealing your lips in an even harder kiss. Urgent, needy.

 

"We've still got time. We'll find another way. _I'll_ find another way." 

 

You kissed him again tenderly, offering a soft smile. "Hey, we don't even know Clint's plan is any good yet. The numbers could be disastrous." 

 

Bucky swallowed hard, letting out a shuddering breath. "Yeah, yeah. Maybe."

 

Gently you pushed him back, nodding your head in the direction of the elevators. "Go on, I know you'll feel better when you see what the numbers say." 

 

His face pinched with guilt, lips pressing to your forehead. "I'll find another way. Trust me."

 

Another soft smile from you, realization settling in that Bucky would need time to accept that this was the right way. The only way. If he ever accepted it at all. You had a feeling he wouldn't.

 

"I do trust you. Now go on. I'll see you after." 

 

Bucky's shoulders relaxed a little and, finally, he made his way to the elevator. 

 

"I love you." You called out when the doors opened. He gave you a smile in return, relieved that you weren't arguing with him. Giving him ultimatums. "I love you too." 

 

The doors dinged shut as you let out a deep breath. 

 

Bucky was just gonna have to trust you, too. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basically the plan is for reader to purposefully anger Damon, incite him enough to make good on his threat. This would distract him enough so he wouldn't notice anything off--allowing our heroes to divide, infiltrate and conquer without raising suspicion. I feel like maybe this is a trash idea lmao. But it's what I've got for now. Lot of moving parts to it! Okay shutting up now. Sorry xo


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